Upon the Bloodstained Plains
by sideshow mel
Summary: A war epic that follows the concluding stages of the prolonged Grassland Zexen territorial armed conflicts that ended right before the start of Suikoden III. Now M rated, because the language was too strong for a T rating.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Suikoden or any of its characters, and Komani's really not gonna get much out of suing some impoverished college kid like me.

Important Note **-Please Read This-**: Before I start, I want to define the made-up military structure I'm going to use for the knights. (Yeah, I know it sounds pretentious as hell, but trust me: the story will work a lot better with this system.) The captain is obviously the commander-in-chief. The vice-captain and the strategist are both more or less his assistants that help him command the knights. Below the captain are the senior lieutenants, of which there are four. Each of them commands a regiment consisting of a varying number of companies (usually between 3 and 10). The 100-man companies are led by junior lieutenants. Below that is the 30-man platoons led by senior sergeants, then the 10-man squads led by junior sergeants. And, for dramatic purposes, all the higher ups fight, not just sit around in their warm, safe camps and give out orders like they actually would do if they were real. Hope that helps. Please RR.

* * *

Dupa took a deep breath, snorting a bit as he let the air out of the nostrils at the end of his long snout. He had slept very little last night, but was nevertheless anything but tired. The scout party leader now arrived outside his dark chamber, a small cave grotto within the Great Hollow. His two guards standing outside the entrance, each clutching a fearsome gride, stopped the scout from entering. One of the guards came inside Dupa's chamber himself. 

"Gorba, left fighter of the reconnaissance team you sent out last night, is back with his report, Master Dupa."

"Send him in immediately," Dupa said in his low raspy voice. He watched the guard return to his post and motion for the other guard to step aside to allow the scout audience with the commander of one of the Lizard army's three Bodies Fighters. The slight-statured but well-built young lizard approached Dupa, bowing his head respectfully.

"Honorable Master Dupa, I, the warrior Gorba of Unit—"

"There is no need for such formalities this early in the morning, Gorba," Dupa stated impatiently. His long tail had involuntarily begun to swing slowly from side to side, as it always did whenever he was anxious. "Let us get straight to business."

"Of course." Gorba cleared his throat. "The unit of knights under siege at the Zexen village of Haysmorth has dwindled down from around thirty to less than twenty after our assault on them yesterday afternoon. We found their mass grave, where we counted eleven fresh bodies that they had not yet buried at the time."

"Yet we have suffered over seventy casualties. That is not a good trade."

"Our warriors were not aware that the village was so heavily booby trapped."

"No, Gorba. We were not." Dupa grunted, his eyes turned to the ground. After a moment, he looked back up. "What of the villagers?"

"Mostly females, the young, and the elderly left, but we could not get a reliable estimate of how many. It could be anywhere from twenty to fifty. We found very few signs of adult males and believe there are now less than half a dozen still alive in the village. Most of the males aided the ironheads in the last three battles, but since they were not skilled warriors, they were largely wiped out."

"What is the status of the village?"

"Complete ruins. Any major building still standing after the first two assaults was successfully burned to the ground last evening." Gorba looked at Dupa's expectant yellow eyes. "Including their main grain reserve warehouse. They have nothing left but burnt rubble. They will not last much longer in the winter like this."

"I see. And did you find out anything about the state of the ironheads' commander, Gorba?"

"He is alive, we know that for sure. The other three scouts and I saw him leading a dozen other ironheads to the grave in the farmlands north of the village at around four this morning. They appeared to be burying their dead then. By his movements, we could detect no signs of serious injury."

"And you are sure it was him? I believe it was still very dark at the time you saw this."

"Yes. We followed them quite closely and heard several of his men address him as 'Lord Borus'." Gorba paused, licking the back of his sharp teeth with his tongue. He appeared to be rather reluctant to speak his next words. "Though he of the Zexen enemy, Master Dupa, I greatly respect his tenacity."

"As do I, Gorba. He is indeed a true warrior, worthy of our highest regards, enemy or not." Dupa hated Zexen and its knights as much as anyone hated their adversaries in war, but he would never dishonor himself by denying respect to those whom he felt truly deserved it. He nodded to the young scout. "That is all I need to know. You have done well. You and your team may rest now, and afterwards you will report to your direct commanding officer for your next assignment."

"Yes, Master Dupa."

"Dismissed, honorable Gorba," Dupa ordered. Gorba bowed again and exited the room. Dupa quietly stood by himself in the chamber, mentally incorporating the information he just received into his prepared recommendations for Chief Zepon concerning their next course of action on the messy issue of Haysmorth. Zepon was expecting him and another commander of one of the three Bodies Fighters, Yelsa, at a strategy meeting at seven o'clock, about an hour from now.

Shiba, the commander of the last of the three Bodies Fighters, had departed south a month ago, leading around 500 troops to aid their Karayan allies in halting the Zexen northward advance toward the Thime River. Before the border disputes between Zexen and Grassland erupted into full-scale war four years ago, the great river had been a boundary between the two lands. Its currents were so strong that even in the coldest of winters, it never froze enough to allow travel directly over it on foot.

Reports from the area indicated that Zexens, consisting of mostly infantry troops with a few companies of knights, had pressed forth with frightening speed. But Shiba and the Karayan chief Lucia had set up formidable defenses at all bridges within the length of the river that stood before the Zexen advance. Bridges were the only crossing points of the Thime during the winter, when huge, dangerous ice floats crashed and grinded against each other as they were swept down the rushing river. Several strategic Karayan villages, rich in resources, lie just miles beyond of the northern bank of the Thime, and Lucia was not about to let them be taken over so easily.

Shiba had been requesting major Lizard Clan reinforcements for quite a while now. However, before his requests could be granted, Haysmorth village and those besieged knights doggedly refusing to give it up needed to be dealt with. Dupa had been involved with Haysmorth since the beginning and had witnessed the transformation of a seemingly trivial nuisance into a nightmare for the Lizard Clan.

The hour before the strategy meeting passed quickly. Dupa's last-minute brainstorming was interrupted only once by Bazba, one of his top officers, who came to give him an official statistic on the casualties sustained in yesterday's battle. Twenty-three confirmed dead, thirty-one unaccounted for and assumed dead, and only nineteen wounded. Those knights at Haysmorth sure didn't seem to like to leave a job half done.

Dupa felt a flush of anger rising up. He shook his head, rattling his red feathered headdress. He resolved himself ever more firmly to prevail in this ongoing struggle, no matter how futile it had become from a strategic standpoint. For the hotheaded lizard commander, Haysmorth had practically become a personal vendetta between himself and the blond knight lieutenant, with his honor itself at stake.

Dupa left for the meeting ten minutes before it started in order to give him enough time to walk through the Great Hollow's twisting tunnels and spacious caverns to the chief's chambers. Like the rest of the Lizard Clan, Dupa's reflective yellow eyes were perfectly well adapted to the dark environment of his damp underground home.

Since the war with Zexen began four years ago, the Great Hollow had been gradually transformed from a clan settlement into more or less a military stronghold, as it was close to where much of the fighting took place. By now, most of the civilian population had relocated, save for a few storeowners, innkeepers, and others who volunteered to contribute to the war effort.

Along his way, Dupa passed the usual sights of wounded fighters lined along the cave walls, since the inns being used for field hospitals were all entirely full. Those that were still able to dutifully hailed Dupa as he walked by, and he nodded back.

Overwhelmed medics were busily tending to the injured, and the corpses of fallen warriors were being carried off to the temporary storage room for the dead. Dupa recalled that just last week, he was told by one of his officers that an additional carcass storeroom would be required soon, as the casualties were really racking up. Also, more personnel needed to be diverted to the task of burying the dead. The smell of rotting flesh, though lessened by the winter's freezing temperatures, was nevertheless becoming unbearable for all in the storeroom's vicinity.

Dupa, like any hardened warrior, had long detached himself from his emotions when dealing with such matters. Such is the price of war, he thought distantly to himself as he walked. And war, especially when fought to defend one's beloved homeland from invaders, is my very purpose for existence.

Dupa reached the Main Hall, by far the largest cavern of the Great Hollow. Its ceiling was so high up that it seemed like the night sky. There, near the entrance to one of the armories, he met up with his fellow commander, the composed, cool-headed Yelsa. Together, they went up the stone ramp to the second level, where Chief Zepon's chamber was. The chief's guards acknowledged the two respectfully and allowed them entry.

Dupa and Yelsa stepped into the chamber, decorated magnificently to fit a Grassland chief. Inside, a round stone table was set up, on which was laid a map. Around the table were three stools. Directly across from the room's entrance, facing the two commanders, was the higher, more ornate stool of the clan chief. Zepon sat upon it, regarding them closely.

Zepon was very old. He had served Grassland with distinction in the Fire Bringer War against Holy Harmonia fifty years ago as a young lizard. Now, he was decades past his prime as a fighter, but his wisdom in leading the clan in both peace and wartime had earned him as much respect as if he was still a great warrior. Dupa was not alone in his fierce loyalty to his chief.

Dupa bowed before Zepon. "Most honorable Chief Zepon, I, the warrior Dupa, Left Fighter of Unit One of the Lizard Clan's Three Bodies Fighters, humbly salute you."

Yelsa's formal greeting followed that his comrade's. "Most honorable Chief Zepon, I, the warrior Yelsa, Left Fighter of Unit Two of the Lizard Clan's Three Bodies Fighters, humbly salute you."

"Greetings, Master Dupa and Master Yelsa," Zepon replied, his gruff voice filled with the wisdom of his age. "Please take your seats." The two commanders sat down at the stone stools placed for them before the table. "As time is of the essence right now," Zepon continued, "I would like to get right down to the issue. First, Dupa, since you had been the left fighter of the troops involved in yesterday's conflict, I would like you to give us a general overview of the situation at hand, as well as the details of last evening's battle and its outcome."

Promptly, Dupa began his account, using the map on the table to his aid. Haysmorth, a Zexen farming village on the Yaza plains northwest of the Great Hollow, was currently completely encircled by Lizard forces, a tiny bubble of resistance behind Grassland lines. A company of knights trapped in the village had lost contact with the rest of the Zexen army for a little over a month now. At their head was a top dog of the Zexen armed forces: Borus Redrum, one of the four senior lieutenants leading the Zexen Knights under Captain Galahad Travers.

Three weeks ago, Zexen had launched a major offensive from the west in an attempt to force a breach in the lines of their enemy and free the besieged village. They failed, managing to form only a narrow salient against Lizard lines after four days of furious fighting, and in the end retreating.

But on the other hand, the Lizard Clan had three times attempted to burst this bubble of resistance, and had three times failed. The phenomenon of an ever-diminishing number of knights holding off three times against hundreds upon hundreds of attacking troops both awed and extremely frustrated the lizards. Diplomatic approaches fared no better. Borus had stubbornly refused to surrender, even after the Lizard Clan offered him a one-chance proposal with relatively favorable terms that included a guarantee not to harm any surviving villagers.

Yesterday's attack on Haysmorth from the south had been the latest failed attempt to take over the utterly devastated village. The knights, with the help of the remaining villagers, had filled practically every square foot of the village and its surrounding area with booby traps, turning the place into a death snare.

When 200 Lizard Clan troops arrived at the village in the mid-afternoon with Dupa in command, the knights were nowhere to be seen. They and the villagers had hidden themselves amidst the rubble and the snow, baited the lizard soldiers to walk into their traps, then ambushed any survivors. The tiny amount of remaining knights never presented themselves for a full-frontal clash with the lizards. After their hit-and-run tactics inflicted staggering loses for the lizard army, Dupa finally retreated late in the evening in defeat.

Dupa concluded his report with the information he received from Gorba earlier that morning. "My scouts, which I have sent out late last night after the battle, have informed me that less than twenty ironheads remain alive in the village. Less than a dozen adult male villagers survive. We had burned all remaining key buildings yesterday, and my scouts have confirmed their complete destruction. Their storehouse for grain reserves is destroyed as well, and as I myself had entered that building before burning it down, I can verify that much of the village's winter food supply was stowed there." Dupa paused briefly. "The commander of the knights, Borus Redrum, is established to be alive and uninjured."

A long moment of silence ensued as Dupa finished. Finally, Zepon broke the stillness with the words Dupa had long expected to hear. "Dupa, I have left the Haysmorth problem to you ever since you first encircled the village a full moon ago. Although I understand that the determination and cunning of the ironheads make them difficult and worthy opponents, I believe that the strength of the Lizard Clan is more than enough to overcome that. I am disappointed in your inability to successfully handle the situation. I expected more from a proven warrior such as you."

Dupa lowered his head. "I have failed my duty to you and to my clan, Chief Zepon. My ineptitude is dishonorable, and I accept my shame. However, I beg for one last chance to redeem myself. I shall take it upon my honor to triumph over the ironheads should you choose to grant me this chance."

Zepon creased the loose, scaly hide of his face. "We will see, Dupa. But first, I would like to hear both your recommendations on our next course of action regarding Haysmorth." He switched his attention over to Dupa's comrade. "Yelsa?"

"Chief Zepon," Yelsa began, his voice calm and collected, as it always was. "I believe it is in our best interests to end the siege as quickly as possible, peacefully, without any further armed conflict. The village may have been sensible to conquer a moon ago. Its strategic location close to the front lines would have made it easier for us to transfer supplies and reinforcements to our warriors at the front. We could have set up a base there and used the village's plentiful food reserves. But none of that matters any longer. There is nothing left of Haysmorth but smoldering ruins and a bunch of starving, freezing villagers and knights. To shed any more blood over it would be an utter waste of time, lives, and resources."

Dupa shook his head. "I disagree, Yelsa." Both the chief and his fellow commander turned towards him, eager to hear his reasoning. "If we give in now, how would that make our clan appear in the eyes of both our Karayan allies and the Zexen enemy? The greatest warrior clan of Grassland could not even crush some petty resistance by what is now a mere twenty ironheads."

"I believe that, by now, those knights have proven their resistance to be anything but petty, Dupa," Yelsa injected.

"But that is not how it will seem to Chief Lucia and the Zexen Council. Besides, admitting defeat to them now will drastically bring down the morale of our warriors at a time when it is greatly needed. Not only that, but it will dishonor those who have already fought and died for that village."

"Dupa, there are greater issues here than honor," Yelsa countered. "Theirs or yours or even our clan's."

"And what could be more important than honor, Yelsa?"

"Perhaps not letting this Haysmorth distraction cost us the war and Grassland along with it, Dupa. Right now, we should be concentrating our troops and resources to the west, where the struggle for the strategic trade town of Minas continues, and to the south, where Shiba and Lucia are desperately trying to hold off the advancing enemy. Instead, we are wasting these troops and resources as we try to settle some completely inconsequential score with a stubborn ironhead commander."

Dupa sighed. He had to admit to himself that Yelsa was right. He had been foolish to pick now as the time to fight out his own private feud, when the stakes elsewhere were so much higher. But even so, he couldn't just let it go like that. "You have convinced me that further attacks against Haysmorth are unwise, Yelsa. But nevertheless, I do not see why ending the siege is necessary. Those ironheads are currently trapped in the dead of winter without lasting food or decent shelter. It will not be long before they all succumb."

"No, but it will still take time. At least a couple of weeks. During this time, I am almost certain that the main Zexen forces will make another attempt to break them free should they learn that the siege still being continued. Such an attack will only further drain our precious resources. We must avoid it if possible."

Yelsa has certainly come more prepared than I have, Dupa confessed to himself, a bit disgruntled. He was ready to accept his fellow commander's terms, except for a final important issue left to be resolved. "Yes, Yelsa. You are right. But there is just one problem."

"What is it?"

"The leader of the ironheads at Haysmorth is none other than Borus Redrum, one of the top commanders of the Zexen Knights. If we can kill or capture him, think of what it would do to the morale of the rest of Zexen forces."

Yelsa thought for a moment. "After all that Master Borus had held up against, killing him would only make him a martyr for the Zexens. It would infuriate them and do the exact opposite of demoralizing them. But on the other hand, it certainly _will _be to our great benefit in many ways if we manage to take him prisoner. In addition to the matter of morale, he can provide us with valuable information, if we can somehow convince him to do so, and his rank makes him excellent for use in ransom."

Zepon nodded. "Yes, but how do you suggest we go about capturing him without bloodshed, Yelsa?"

A moment of silence fell upon the meeting as Yelsa formulated his plan. Finally, he said, "We should offer to give all his remaining knights and all the surviving villagers a free walk back to behind their own lines. This in exchange for his, and only his, peaceful surrender. If I know a Zexen Knight at all, Master Borus will not refuse this deal."

Zepon raised his head towards Yelsa, not hiding the fact that he was very pleased with the commander. "Very good, Yelsa. I believe that is as favorable a solution as can be achieved at this time. You have done well." He turned to Dupa. "As for you, Dupa, I will grant you your request. You will be the one to settle the score with the commander of the knights. Immediately, you are to depart to Haysmorth with a small convoy. You will lay down your arms and present—"

Suddenly, the sound of scurrying feet was heard right outside the chamber. The meeting was abruptly interrupted by a messenger, who charged into the room. His face was stricken with panic, and his voice was bursting with urgency. "Chief! Chief Zepon! The Zexens are attacking! They're going for Haysmorth again! It's a double-pronged offensive from the west and the southwest!"

After the initial moment of shock, all three Lizard Clan leaders sighed and shook their heads wordlessly in immeasurable frustration. Finally, Chief Zepon spoke up. "If we give up Haysmorth now, we will lose all the conquered territory to the west of it. We cannot afford to relinquish so much of the Yaza Plains over to the Zexens. Dupa, Yelsa, deploy the troops."

* * *

Borus Redrum rubbed his chin. Three days without shaving had left quite the stubble there. Better find an object with a sharp edge soon, he thought to himself. A beard was not only unsightly on him, but out in the winter cold with minimal shelter, where it could trap ice and freeze his face, it was also quite dangerous.

The young knight lieutenant was huddled against a cold wall in the dark cellar, lit only by a dim lantern placed upon an empty bookshelf. He wrapped the blanket covering his body ever more tightly around himself. He and the rest of the men had already taken off their armors for the night. All around him were the groans of his injured knights and the comforting, but ultimately futile words spoken to them by their comrades and the assisting villagers.

He felt a drop of water fall upon his dirty, tangled blond hair and looked up. The ceiling of the cellar was leaking, and melting snow was dripping in. The house above the cellar had been completely burned down during one of the attacks by the Lizard Clan against his position at this miserable little village of Haysmorth.

In fact, the third assault of his month-long siege here had just concluded three hours ago with a successful defense of the village, if these smoking piles of rubbles could still be called that. That was the good news.

And then there was the bad news. He was now down to nineteen men out of the original company of 104, only thirteen of whom were still able to fight. And the lizards had finally succeeded in their goal of burning down every single rising structure in the village that could be used for shelter, save for a couple of outhouses. Not to mention that the grain warehouse, where the vast majority of the food reserves was stored, was among these structures. So now, he, his men, and the remaining villagers are facing death by one of three ways: cold, starvation, or another strike by those damned lizards, which they would then truly have no way of defending against.

"No…no! Lord Borus!" one of his knights suddenly called out across the small room. "Nathan… No! It can't be! He's… Oh, merciful Goddess! No!" He broke down into a series of sorrowful, panicked whimpers.

Borus sighed. Make that eighteen men.

He stood up, still wearing the blanket draped about himself. He walked over the nineteen-year-old man kneeling before his dead friend and crouched before him. He looked at the body. He had previously seen the enormous gash inflicted by a lizard gride in Nathan's midsection, with the young man's entrails practically spilling out of it. It was now covered with a blood-soaked piece of cloth ripped from the dress of the female villager who had attempted to bandage the wound, even though there had been no hope from the start that Nathan would live for long. Borus was about to remove the cloth when the woman stopped him with a wave of her hand. Don't do it, her weary eyes told him. It's not a pretty sight.

The woman then stood aside and quietly watched the lieutenant. Borus placed a hand on Nathan's comrade's trembling shoulder. "He'll be buried in the morning with the others, Harris," he said in the most consoling tone he could muster.

"No! No, how could it just happen like this? I…I just promised him we'd get home alive together!"

"There was nothing you could have done, Harris."

"B-but…but," Harris stuttered, as if a right reason could bring his friend back. Borus started to grow a bit irritated and was in the mind to order the kid to straighten up and act like a knight. "But we've been best friends since we were squires!" Harris suddenly blurted out. "We've always fought together, a-and now we'll never…" He trailed off, sobbing.

Percival's image suddenly sprang into Borus's head. He imagined himself kneeling before the dead body of his fellow Zexen Knight senior lieutenant. Not that he'd ever act anything like this kid, but he did immediately feel much more empathy for the distressed young man. I understand, he thought. You can watch hundreds of men die in battle, but it'll still be pretty damn hard to lose a friend like this, won't it? With one arm, he took Harris's shaking head and brought it to rest upon his shoulder. After a while, he looked up at the woman still standing beside him, who nodded back at him. She knelt down, and Borus transferred the sniveling young man over to her.

The blond knight stood up. "Paul!" he called out.

"Yes, my lord?" replied a flat voice from a bald, rather portly middle-aged knight sergeant sitting in the corner.

"Will you help me carry Sir Nathan's body over to the grave?"

"Of course, my lord." Paul stood and walked over to the body of the young man. He lifted up the feet while Borus held up the head. Two other knights quickly ran up the cellar stairs and opened the trapdoors for the two men. A biting chill cut through the cellar as it became exposed to the winter air. The two knights climbed outside and held the trapdoors open for Borus and Paul from there.

Borus and Paul lifted the body out of the cellar. Silently, they carried it across the ashes and ruins toward the northern outskirts of the village, using a small lantern tied to Borus's belt to guide them through dark. They carefully avoiding any booby traps placed for the lizards that were not already set off.

The village seemed dead empty, since all the villagers had by now retired to some cellar or another for the night. Cellars were the only places that could now be used to provide some form of protection against the winter cold. Most of the fires set ablaze during the battle had already died out, save for a few dying flames still burning bright against the dark night over scattered houses. The heat of the fires had melted much of the snow in the village. Bloody lizard corpses that nobody had bothered to clean up lay strewn about everywhere.

The two knights left the village and made their way through a snow-covered field that had been used to plant various crops, but was now barren with winter's freeze. They came to a long ditch running east to west. The ditch had been an irrigation canal dug long before Borus and his knights arrived at Haysmorth. The frozen ground during the winter made it impossible for Borus to dig graves himself for his fallen men, so he made do by placing their bodies in the canals and covering them up with gathered sticks and branches. The bodies of dead villagers were placed into a separate mass grave in the fields to the west of the village. Despite Borus's offer to help, the villagers had insisted on taking care of their dead by themselves.

Other irrigation canals, mostly across the eastern and southern fields that faced the Great Hollow, had been transformed into traps for the lizard army. Thin wooden boards were placed over these ditches, and then covered with a coat of snow so that they blended into the surrounding landscape. Long sharpened wooden spikes were set up beneath the boards, so that when the lizard fighters tripped into the canals, they, with luck, would be impaled upon the spikes.

Borus and Paul walked along the knights' burial canal, long sections of which were already covered with sticks for the men who had died in previous confrontations. They came to the spot where they had neatly laid down the other ten men who had been killed in that day's battle, or had succumbed to their wounds afterwards, as Nathan had done. Borus and Paul gently placed Nathan's body beside the others. They stood back from the ditch, took one last look at the body, and walked away without a word. They would be back in the morning with the rest of the men to gather the sticks and bury the dead.

Borus raised his head up as he walked side by side with the older man. His hand fingered the golden hilt of the faithful longsword that hung loosely at his belt. The night sky was perfectly clear, sparkling with thousands of stars. At least there wouldn't be snow tonight.

The walk back to the village was deathly quiet, as neither man had much to say to the other. In his head, Borus once again ran back over the question of who might have been chosen in his absence to be the substitute commander of the Zexen Knights' Regiment Three.

When they reached the burnt ruins of the village church, Borus looked towards its cellar, where loud raunchy noises, some of them coming from his knights, perforated through the trapdoors. Disgraceful behavior, he thought to himself. "Why don't you go down there and relax a bit tonight yourself, Sergeant?" Borus teased, knowing perfectly well that Paul wouldn't.

"You know I'm a married man, Lord Borus."

"Hey, I won't tell anyone," Borus joked with a weak smile. Paul turned away. He wasn't in the mood for kidding around tonight. Borus quickly fell silent, and they continued on without another word.

When the siege had first been laid upon Haysmorth, some prostitutes in the village had offered up their free services to the knights as a gesture of goodwill. At the time, Borus had absolutely refused to let any of his men take advantage of the offer, claiming such conduct to be inappropriate for a knight and distracting from their duties. But as the days went on and the attacks upon the village began, he realized that the men needed all the morale boosts they could get. At first, he established time limits and made the knights pay for the services with what little they had, but eventually he caved in and stopped caring anymore.

The only time that Borus himself had indulged in the debauchery was Yule night two weeks ago, an experience that he later considered a miserable, drunken Yule gift to himself. It goes without saying that it was the single worst holiday he or any of the men ever had. They had tried to make the best of things. On Yuletide Eve, they decorated a pine tree with colorful pieces of broken glass from the church's shattered stained-glass windows, which sparkled and shined a bit when light was cast upon them. Then they spent some time making little presents for each other out of whatever junk they could find. Borus had tied a bunch of dried grass together to form something that, with a large stretch of the imagination, looked remotely similar to a toy horse.

They exchanged the presents the next day as they wistfully related to each other what they believed their families were presently doing at home so far away. Borus had reminisced to his men about how his own family resided a very far distance to the south, and how, as a senior lieutenant, his duties did not allow him to take that long a furlough away from the front. His previous two Yuletides would have been rather lonesome had Percival not invited him to spend them with his own peasant family at his nearby home village of Iksay.

Borus's men, who were sons of noble birth, as knights almost always were, had asked him rather skeptically about how pleasant it could have possibly been to spend the holidays with _commoners_. But Borus could hardly remember ever having had a better time. The food was delicious, the company was friendly, and the loose, relaxed atmosphere of the dinners and festivities, so different from what he was used to with his aristocratic background, made the experiences all the more enjoyable. However, as he told and listened to the stories in the damp, drafty building of the ruined village, huddled against his men for warmth, Borus felt as though the jovial tales belonged to another world far removed from the one he was currently living in.

Everything seemed to go rather well that day, as well as it could possibly go for a besieged village. The knights, in an extreme stroke of luck, caught and killed a wounded wild boar roaming about the village outskirts.

"A Yule blessing from Sadie Herself!" one of the knights had exclaimed.

"If Sadie really wanted to give us Her blessing," another had replied cynically, "She'd deliver us from this hell, not send us some fucking pig."

That evening, they had their Yuletide feast around an indoor bonfire in the courthouse. It was the first time in weeks they'd tasted meat, since almost all of the livestock and pets in the village had been looted by the lizards for food during their first assault.

Just as they were singing Yule carols together, the second attack from the Lizard Clan suddenly fell upon village, catching the knights completely off their guards. Borus doubted that they could have held up by themselves if not for the help they received from the villagers. Although they managed to drive off the lizard forces in the end, all the knights' horses had been killed, Borus had lost thirty-five men, and the entire population of adult male villagers, who were untrained in combat but nevertheless fought bravely, had been reduced to all but nothing.

Late that night, or possibly early the next morning, Borus, disheartened by the horrific loses, had drank himself stupid and woke up at noon on a brothel bed. Appalled at his depravity, he resolved to be a better leader and to fully prepare his men for the next inevitable attack. By then, his knights numbered at a measly thirty-four, with nine wounded and five of these that later died. Knowing that they could not withstand another frontal clash, he led his knights and the villagers in setting the village up with booby-traps for the next two weeks. When the lizard attack finally came this afternoon, they were ready and used guerilla tactics to strike a humiliating blow against the enemy.

But as Borus thought about it now, all he really did was prolong the unavoidable end. They had nothing left. No food, no shelter, no hope. All they were waiting for now was death.

At the start of the siege, Borus had been quite certain that the Zexen Knights would come to break them free. A week passed, and sure enough, he and his men heard the distant sounds of clashing metal and battle cries far to the west. But four days came and went and the din of war never did seem to grow any closer.

Borus had contemplated attempting to break through the lizard lines with his men amidst the chaos, but decided against it. If he did so, he would have had to leave the villagers defenseless against the lizards. He had heard rumors of massacres the lizards carried out in captured Zexen villages. Percival had once told him that such tales were usually complete bull made up to incite public outrage, but Borus was not so sure. The stories seemed perfectly plausible to him. After all, these Grasslanders were nothing but a bunch of uncivilized heathens. What did they know about the value of life? He was not about to let the citizens of Haysmorth suffer whatever horrible fate awaited them in the hands of such savages.

By the fifth day, the far-off noises of battle disappeared. Borus knew that his potential rescuers had retreated. Three weeks had passed, and they had not returned. Borus was not getting his hopes up that they would attempt to break the encirclement again. All there was at Haysmorth now was a blackened zone of devastation and a few wretched survivors desperately clinging on to it. There was nothing here that was worth the costs of a major military campaign, which was what was required to take on the resilient lizard lines. Such knowledge was certainly humbling to a man like Borus.

He thought back to the beginning of their current mess, when humble was the last thing he had felt. A month ago, when Haysmorth had still been in Zexen territory, Borus and Percival had been assigned by Captain Galahad as the heads of an important operation to take the eastern half of the Zexen trade town of Minas, southwest of Haysmorth, back from the lizard forces. Brutal, stalemated street fighting between the Zexen infantry and the Lizard Clan fighters had been going on for a month and a half within the town walls.

Salome's strategy had been quite simple. The goal was for the knights to launch a surprise attack against the lizards' left flank at Minas. If successful, the lizards' rear forces would scatter, and the enemy units within the town would be trapped between the infantry and the knights, and then liquidated at will. That was the assignment of Percival, who would sneak two companies into the thick forests south of Minas and would hide them there until it was time to strike.

Borus's role was that of a ruse. He was to lead three companies and parade openly around the Yaza Plains the northeast of Minas, as if about to attack the lizards' right flank. The lizard troops were then supposed to concentrate their rear troops in the right flank, leaving the left vulnerable. That was when Percival was to begin his assault.

All had gone according to plan at first. Percival led his troops on foot into the forest, and the lizard army, as intended, was threatened by the spectacle of Borus's horseback knights to their northeast and had begun to build up their right flank. By the third morning, a scout had informed Borus that the left flank was now weak and exposed. Percival was expected to get the signal to strike anytime now.

But something was wrong. Even by evening, Percival never attacked, and the gathering lizard forces on the right flank appeared to grow bolder. That night, Borus took one company and retired to the village of Haysmorth, which he had made his temporary base. He left his other two companies on the lookout for any signs of Percival's offensive.

Borus was woken in the middle of the night by the sounds of nearby fighting. He immediately rode out with his company, only to find that the lizard's right flank troops at Minas, along with newly arrived reinforcements from the Great Hollow, had attacked his two ill-prepared companies on watch, scattering them northward and westward as they retreated. Where the hell was Percival? Borus wondered, fearing for the worst. But right then, he had his own hide to worry about first.

By the time he arrived, Borus's own escape retreat routes had been blocked. He attempted to break through the enemy lines, but was too far outnumbered. Among others, the junior lieutenant, the second-in-command of the company, was killed. With the surviving eighty-three men, Borus drew back to Haysmorth. There, he found that a new maneuver launched from the Great Hollow was surrounding the village from the east, while the troops from Minas closed in from the west.

The two lizard forces soon completed their encirclement and placed the village under siege. Borus and his men entrenched themselves in the village, ready for an assault, although the first one did not come until almost a week later. Having almost a full company well embedded in a defensive position, Borus was able to fight the lizards off without heavy losses. He had been cocky and self-assured at the time, fully willing to believe that somehow in some way, it would all work out in the end if they continued to hold on to the village.

But now, as Borus stole a glance over at his companion's face, he saw not the defiant, optimistic look as was on the faces of all of his men in those days. He saw on Paul's weary face the empty expression that clearly stated that he had given up all hope. Especially after the last battle, few of the remaining men still had the flame inside them to fight on any longer. They viewed death as inevitable, and did not care to prolong their suffering in these shambles of the village. They didn't even pray to the Goddess anymore. These were men who no longer cared whether they lived or died.

The surviving villagers fared no better. Daily, they had gone about, assisting the knights in whatever needed to be assisted with, rarely complaining. But Borus knew that these people had it much worse than the knights. Not only were their homes destroyed and their livelihoods ruined, but they were also forced to watch their families suffer and die. Yes, the knights were the ones protecting them from the lizard onslaughts, but they were also the reason that the villagers were in this mess in the first place. Although they didn't express it in any way, Borus was very certain that the villagers harbored much resentment for him and his knights.

When the two knights reached the cellar, Paul headed down, but Borus didn't follow him. "Lieutenant?" Paul called up his commander. The winter night was bitter cold, but Borus did not feel like going back into that cellar full of those empty husks of men, even though he knew that he was quickly becoming one himself.

"I think I'd like to hang around out here for a bit," Borus replied. The sergeant closed the trapdoors without another word. Borus walked a little further and came across an ash-covered stone bench beside a street littered with rubble. Sweeping off the ash, he sat down on the bench. He untied the lantern from his belt and set it down beside him.

In the lantern's light, Borus saw a small piece of broken glass at his feet and bent down to pick it up. He touched the sharp edges and thought to himself: This should work well as a razor. He placed it in his shirt pocket underneath the blanket wrapped about himself. He'd shave in the morning when he could find a patch of reflective ice that could be used as a mirror.

As he looked off into the night, Borus finally came to ask himself the big question: what was he going to do now? There was only one other option besides some form of death: surrender, although he had never previously thought of it as any better than death.

Borus suddenly recalled a discussion he had with Percival concerning the subject a while ago. Percival had woken him up from his warm camp bedroll and dragged him along on one of his ridiculously early morning rides across the Yaza Plains in the chilly dawn.

"Really, Percival. We're getting dangerously close the front lines," Borus had protested as he followed Percival to the edge of the existing Zexen boundaries.

"Don't tell me that Sir Swordsman of Rage is scared," Percival replied with a laugh.

"One, stop calling me that. It's not like 'Swordsman of Gale' is any less stupid. And two, where the hell did you get the idea that I'm _scared_? I just think we should take more caution than you're allowing. I mean, what if a bunch of Grassies see us?"

"What _if_ a bunch of Grassies see us?"

"Percival, we're both senior lieutenants of the Zexen Knights. Just the two of us. All the way out here by ourselves."

Percival eyed him suspiciously and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, man. You'd better not be coming on to me."

"I'm trying to be serious here, all right? This is a huge risk we're taking. Right now, we're prime targets for the enemy. And this close to the border too. What we're doing is _irresponsible_ to the rest of the knights."

"If all you're gonna do is bitch, Borus, this is the last time I'm bringing you along."

"Oh, that's such a _shame_," Borus stated sarcastically.

"Look, I go on these morning rides all the time. Even _if _I'm spotted by Grassies, my Svetlana's the fastest horse in all of Zexen," he said as he proudly patted his solid black mare on the neck. "She'll leave them all in her dust in no time." He looked over at Borus's stocky speckled gray stallion. "But on the other hand, your Ghost isn't nearly as streamlined for speed. Just don't expect me to wait up for you."

"Like I really would," Borus muttered.

Percival laughed. "Well, if I were you, my best bet would be to just surrender and pray that my captors are a band of Alma Kinan girls come to take me away to their all-female village to be their love slave."

"Wait a minute! Surrender!" Borus exclaimed angrily, taking personal offense to the use of that word directed at him. "And just what in the name of Saint Loa makes you think I'd do that! Only cowards surrender!"

To Borus's surprise, Percival's expression suddenly grew serious at his words. "You really think so, Borus?"

"Of course! I'd fight to the death before I'd concede defeat like some spineless barbarian!"

Percival slowed his horse down. "That's really not a good mindset for such a high-ranked officer to have."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, Borus, let's just say that you're leading so and so number of troops and you get surrounded by the enemy. You're completely outnumbered and there's no way you could break out. Would you surrender or would you selfishly make all your men die for some silly little ideal of yours?"

"It's not a silly little ideal, Percival! It's called honor, and we're all are supposed to have it! No true Zexen Knight would ever surrender when he could still fight."

"_I_ would." Percival musingly looked over at his comrade. "Does that mean I'm not a 'true Zexen Knight'?"

Borus glared crossly back at Percival. "Yeah, then. I guess it does."

Percival sighed and halted his horse. "Well then, Lord Borus. All I can say is that I feel sorry for your men and that I'm damn glad _I'm_ not under your command."

That last sentence rang in Borus's head as he sat on the stone bench that night in Haysmorth. The words now sounded so clear to him, almost as if Percival was right here beside him, saying them himself. For the first time, Borus began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, his friend actually had a point back there.

After the failed Yule assault, the Lizard Clan had proposed to Borus generous conditions of surrender that promised to treat the knights well as prisoners and to leave the surviving villagers unharmed, even help them by assisting to rebuild the village. Borus had promptly rejected the one-chance offer.

Even at the time, he couldn't quite give a clear reason as to why he refused, other than that he just didn't want to surrender. He told himself and his men that it was because he didn't trust those lizard bastards, especially with the villagers. In truth, however, he knew that it was more because he simply couldn't bring himself to give in, to accept defeat, to admit that he, Borus Redrum, had lost in this hopeless struggle.

Back then, he had known that there was no way to break the siege himself, and, after the previous unsuccessful attempt, hopes of rescue were slim. He had no long-term plans, and his only short-term strategy was to simply stay alive and hold on to the village, even though Haysmorth was of entirely no use to Zexen by that point.

As he now thought over his decision, Borus suddenly felt absolutely disgusted with himself. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and lowered his head. Goddess, I'm so arrogant! Damn it! What have I done? I'm so damn selfish and shortsighted that I've consigned everyone around me to a slow, painful death just because I didn't want to hurt my pride! Percival was right. I've already made so many good knights and villagers needlessly die over some silly little ideal of mine.

This needs to end _now_. It may be more than a little late, and I may have stupidly passed up those favorable terms offered to me two weeks ago, but at least I can still save whatever's left of my knights, and hopefully the villagers as well.

Tomorrow morning, after I bury my men, I'm going to walk right up to the lizard army, drop my sword, and surrender.

* * *

End Note: Yes, I know what you're thinking: for a fic that's supposedly about Chris, there sure hasn't been a lot of Chris so far. Just be patient. Of course, the idea of the winter siege was inspired by the Bastogne/Stalingrad sieges of WWII fame. I know it's different in the game, but for this fic, I'm gonna assume that there's more than just one Karayan village and one Lizard village (or whatever you call it) and so forth. Oh, and yes, you do have to ignore the fact that lizards are cold-blooded and won't survive for long out in the winter if you want the story to make sense. Feedback much appreciated. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was the first time in five months that Chris Lightfellow had returned to Brass Castle. The great fortress and its surrounding township were pleasing sights to sore eyes as she rode across the western stone bridge leading towards the gates of castle town. After all, it was a civilized place that wasn't war-torn and devastated, one of very few that she had seen during these past five months.

The call had come a week after Yule. Issued by Captain Galahad, it was for all the top commanders of the Zexen Knights, currently scattered far and wide by their duties, to gather at Brass Castle a week later for an important conference to discuss the current situation in the war with Grassland. That meant that Chris, Acting Senior Lieutenant of Regiment Three, was to come as well.

Less than a month ago, Chris had been a junior lieutenant of one of Regiment Two's companies under Sir Leo Gallen. Back then, she had been fighting against the Karayans on the western Amur Plains. The campaign there had been an eastward advance to seize a major Grassland village, Karaya, which was about the Karayan equivalent of Vinay del Zexay, Zexen's capitol city. Karaya's capture would greatly incapacitate Karayan forces, perhaps even taking them entirely out of the war. Zexen could then concentrate more of their efforts on defeating the more troublesome Lizard Clan.

Most of the Zexen Knights' Regiment Two had been assigned to this operation, although Leo had also sent two of his companies over to aid the infantry in their newly launched northward drive to capture other Karayan villages north of the Thime River. The Knights' chief strategist Salome Harras had ardently suggested that Zexen hold off on the Thime mission and combine the forces of the two campaigns to take over Karaya first, since all those other villages should fall easily afterwards.

But the Zexen Federation Council had stubbornly refused to listen, saying that they believed enough troops had already been allocated to the Karaya campaign, and that the advantage of winter, when the Grassland troops were weakest, should allow Zexen to successfully carry out the dual operations at once. Of course, they failed to take into account the fact that winter posed just as big an obstacle for Zexen forces as it did for Grassland forces, but since it was them who had the final say, there was nothing Salome could do.

Why must the decisions of war be made by those who know nothing about war? Chris had thought angrily when word came that the knights on the Amur Plains would receive no reinforcements. The Council must think that fighting the Karayans is easy. If so, then they should get out of their cozy mansions in back Vinay and come out here to get in on the action themselves! Chris knew that some of the toughest enemies one could ever face were not the best trained or most well organized ones, but the most determined ones. And she had never seen more determination than from these Karayan warriors, who were willing to pay any price to defend their homeland.

Things had not been going so well for Leo, as his push towards Karaya had been significantly slowed by the Karayan resistance and was eventually brought to a complete standstill. With no reinforcements arriving anytime soon, he had expected his knights to be stalemated there on the Amur Plains for quite possibly the rest of the winter.

That was when the summons for Chris came. A messenger had arrived at Chris's camp one night after she had just gotten back with the men under her command from a long, uneventful day of lookout out in the snowy field. The message delivered to her had been from the captain himself. It was brief and vague, stating only that Galahad was ordering her to leave immediately for the Zexen field headquarters south of the Yaza Plains for a new assignment.

When she informed Leo, he had been furious. "What!" he had bellowed, veins bulging from his forehead and the muscles of his thick neck tightening. "He wants me to send away my best lieutenant at a time like this!"

"I agree this isn't the best time, sir," she had replied. "I'd hate to leave the men behind now, but it is an official summons from the captain."

Early the next morning, she packed a few provisions and quickly got on her way with two escorts. They traveled hastily, resting very little and pushing their horses to near exhaustion. Chris didn't know what the summons was for, but it had sounded urgent, and she was determined to fulfill her captain's orders punctually. On the evening of the third day, she finally arrived at the southern edge of the Yaza Plains.

Upon her arrival at the field headquarters, she was promptly led to the command tent, where Galahad, Salome, and Vice-Captain Pelize Rumana were all waiting for her. Upon seeing the three highest commanders of the Knights of Zexen, all with their eyes intently upon her, Chris's heart had practically leapt into her throat. What in the name of the Goddess have I done now? she wondered. She had to use every bit of her considerable self-discipline to keep her nervousness under control.

"Ah, it's been a while, Chris Lightfellow," Galahad greeted. "You certainly have become a fine young woman since I last saw you. We're glad that you could make it here so quickly."

The brown-haired, thirty-six-year-old captain's tall, stout build seemed more imposing to Chris than ever. The man had been Chris's own lord when she was a squire. His acceptance of a girl as his squire had been to the great surprise and objection of some of his comrades. But he had taken her in due to his past connection with her missing father, Wyatt Lightfellow, and some kind of promise made between the two men that she didn't know the details about. And she couldn't have possibly hoped for a better lord. He never differentiated her by her gender, and he treated her like any of the male squires. With fatherly patience, he had brought out her full potential and set her well on her way to becoming the fine knight that she now was.

Chris had always had endless respect and admiration for the man: his unrivaled swordsmanship, his judicious leadership, his genuine concern for his knights. Now there was a true leader. She, perhaps even more so than the rest of the knights, entrusted her life to him and would always pledge to him her unwavering loyalty and service.

But despite Chris's past familiarity with the captain, she still felt very uncomfortable then in that tent, as an air of seriousness and formality had surrounded her former lord and the other two men.

"Captain Galahad. Vice-Captain Pelize. Lord Salome," she stated respectfully, addressing each of her superiors in turn. "I came as soon as I received the summons from my lords."

"As can be expected with a knight with such an exemplary service record," Galahad replied. "I've heard many things about you over the last few years from Leo, Chris, and I wouldn't have expected any less from the best squire I've ever had."

"Yes," Salome continued. The blond strategist's deathly solemn expression made Chris all the more uneasy. "Twenty-two years old, became knighted four years ago shortly after the war began, as the first female Knight of Zexen. Your commendable performance and proven leadership skills on the battlefield quickly moved you up the ranks until you were eventually made a junior lieutenant of Regiment Two at age twenty."

Completely confused as to what was going on, Chris remained silent as Pelize picked up, stroking his black moustache. "And of course, we've all heard the stories of your accomplishments from then on. Most notably, how you led your company last spring to single-handedly breech near-impenetrable lizard ranks and free 400 surrounded infantry troops." He paused briefly, studying her carefully with his slanted green eyes. "We've also heard you're very popular with your men. Your charisma, good judgment, and understanding of battle tactics make your leadership laudable. Not to mention it's been said that even the fiercest demons of Hell would run for their lives when you unsheathe your blade on the battlefield. No wonder Sir Leo practically thinks of you as his assistant regiment commander."

Was I called up here just to be given a stupid medal? Chris had thought indignantly. Surely Galahad wouldn't do such a silly thing! Not when the situation on the Amur Plains is as dire as it is now. Why am I here wasting time listening to myself being flattered when I'm needed back there to be fighting alongside my men?

"My lords, may I inquire as to the reason for my presence here?" she asked as Pelize finished his speech, praying that her impatience did not show through in her voice.

At that point, Galahad let out a hearty laugh. "Well, it seems like our lady doesn't like to waste time."

"No, sir! That's not—"

"Ha ha ha! Same no-nonsense attitude as ever, eh Chris? I'm becoming more and more convinced that we picked the right man—er, person—for the job. Salome, if you'll inform the lady on the current situation. I'm sure the news hasn't reached Amur yet at the time she left."

So Salome then told her about how a week ago, Senior Lieutenant Borus Redrum, commander of Regiment Three, was encircled by the Lizards along with a single knight company. The company was currently under siege at a small Zexen village on the Yaza Plains. The last night, there had been a confirmed Lizard attack upon the village, the first one since the start of the siege. The attack appeared to be unsuccessful, as lizard troops were observed to have withdrawn from the village.

Borus's status officially became "missing in action" when he lost contact with the rest of the Zexen forces during the encirclement. As such, a replacement commander of his regiment was needed, and Chris herself had been chosen as to be its acting senior lieutenant. The temporary promotion would last until Borus either somehow returns back to Zexen's hands or is confirmed to be dead. If the latter were the case, Salome had told her, her promotion would then become permanent.

The information had come as an utter shock to Chris. Even as they were talking, she was still trying to fully grasp the fact that they picked _her_ to be a substitute regiment commander. On the battlefield, she had always made her best possible effort at fighting and leading her men, because she sincerely wanted to give her all to serve her beloved Zexen. But she had absolutely no idea that her deeds had become so well known and esteemed that Captain Galahad himself would offer her a promotion such as this, even if it were only a temporary one. She wasn't quite sure she was up to the task.

When Salome finished speaking, Chris then asked a few of the questions that had been lingering in her head, bothering her about this sudden promotion. "Captain Galahad, this couldn't possibly have had anything to do with, well, my former standing as your squire, could it?"

"Chris, I know what you're worried about, and I can assure you that the first and most important thing we considered was who was most qualified for the job," Galahad answered. "And all three of us agree that there is none more qualified than you. Of course, because of my past acquaintance with you, I can then personally vouch for your reliability and aptitude."

"Thank you, my lord. That means a lot to me. But has the Council approved of this decision? I understand that the appointment of a senior lieutenant requires their authorization."

"Ah, the Council, yes," Galahad replied dryly. "You see, Chris, the Council likes to take its precious time when making these types of decisions. Time that we, here in the middle of a war, simply don't have. Just like when Borus replaced Hector and Percival replaced Gawain two and a half years ago, we're going to forego the Council's approval with you."

"So…you're doing this without their consent?" The notion of trying to slip by Zexen's most powerful institution made Chris very uneasy.

"Think of it this way, milady," Salome spoke up. "The Council isn't exactly considerate concerning our time restraints. If we're taking this war seriously at all, the men can't go months without a leader. The Council will learn about our own appointment at a later date, but, assuming that Borus is dead, you'll be too well-established in your position by then for them to really do anything about it."

"It's what happened with Sir Percival," Pelize added. "Those guys in Vinay weren't exactly happy when they found out that we've assigned such a low-born man to such a high rank, but they had to live with it."

"Yes, well, I wouldn't want to assume that Lord Borus is dead. I'm sure it'll all work out for the better if we can get him back."

"Yes, you're right, Chris," Galahad said with a nod. "In fact, we'll find out soon enough whether he's alive or not. Tomorrow morning, Percival is going to lead four companies in an offensive endeavor to breech the lizard lines west of Haysmorth. Even if Borus is dead, there's still an entire trapped company within that village, not to mention the villagers, and we can't just abandon them, can we now?"

"No, my lord. Of course not. That's very good to hear." She quietly sighed in relief to herself. Hopefully, Borus would be brought back and be put in charge before she had the time to mess anything up. She caught herself thinking the thought and harshly reprimanded herself for being so self-doubting. It certainly wasn't a desirable trait for a good military leader.

After a few more encouraging words, Galahad let her off to get some rest. Not that she slept particularly well that night, as she contemplated and mentally prepared herself for her enormous new responsibilities.

When Percival had failed to break the besieged company out from behind Grassland lines, Chris spent the next three and a half weeks, minus the short Yule break, getting herself and the men of Regiment Three accustomed to her new position as its commander. During this time, Galahad had wisely decided not to give her any overly demanding assignments. She only received small missions and participated in various minor skirmishes, which greatly helped her grow into her new role. And of course, her former lord was always there to give her his advice and guidance should she need it.

And now, as the gate guards stepped aside to allow the regal silver-haired young knight and her small convoy of escorts into Brass Castle town, Chris had finally felt like she was fully prepared to take on the true duties of a senior lieutenant of the Zexen Knights. Galahad had insinuated that she would likely be assigned to one of the major undertakings that would be decided by the end of the meeting here, one that she had had three weeks to prepare herself for. And it would be then that she would truly prove the worth of her service to her captain, to the Knighthood, and to the Zexen Federation.

* * *

Percival Fraulein sighed as he stared out from the side of Brass Castle's eastern bridge, his arms, laden with his heavy armor, resting upon its stone railings. Up here, he could see miles upon miles of the farmlands north of the majestic fortress, with their vast stretches of undisturbed snow-covered fields glowing crimson and gold under the setting sun. But he knew that beyond the quiet, serene Zexen lands that could be seen from his high vantage point lied the war-torn Grasslands, drenched in the immeasurable amount of blood spilled upon it over the last four years of continual carnage.

And even as Percival had now returned to the warm, safe confines of Brass Castle for the Zexen Knights commanders' strategy meeting, one of his closest comrades was out there dying in the snowy ruins of some tiny village. Percival knew fully well that odds were he'd never see Borus again. He tried to recall his last glimpse of the blond knight's face as they departed for their separate ways on their last assignment together.

The camaraderie between the two young lieutenants had gone a long way back. They'd met as squires who, despite having completely opposing personalities and backgrounds, found similarity with each other in their exceptional swordsmanship, unparalleled by that of any of the other squires. Their friendship, strengthened by their rivalry, remained unbroken even when they were assigned to entirely different regiments when they became knighted.

They had little interaction with each other during those years, only sharing the occasional drink when they had the rare chance to meet up in Vinay del Zexay or Brass Castle town. But when the war started, both men were finally able to demonstrate their skills and live up to their true potentials. They quickly rose up the ranks within their respective regiments until both had become some of the finest company commanders the Zexen Knights had ever known.

When Sir Hector, commander of Regiment Three, was killed in battle by the lizards two and a half years ago, he was promptly replaced by a twenty-two-year-old Borus. By a stroke of coincidence, Senior Lieutenant Gawain of Regiment One retired from the Knights only two months after that. His wife had given birth to his fourth child, and he no longer wished to be continually absent from his growing family due to the war. After much debate over his peasantry upbringing, twenty-three-year-old Percival was finally chosen to lead the regiment in Gawain's place.

After that, the two were able to spend much more time together, not just as drinking buddies, but as true brothers-in-arms. Galahad had noticed that his two youngest lieutenants worked well together and thus assigned their regiments to the same general areas of conflict.

Percival had good relationships with the other higher ups as well. Galahad, Pelize, Salome, and Leo, his direct commanding officer before he was promoted to the same rank, had all been wonderful mentors to him. As for Roland, well, the elf rarely talked to him aside from occasionally telling him to can it with his human jests, so there wasn't much to say about him, other than that he was almost as fun as Borus to tease.

But his friendship with Borus was of an entirely different caliber. They were the two who cooperated on missions, fought together, placed their lives in each other's hands. They would have gone through hell and back for each other, and they often did. There upon the unforgiving battlefields, he and Borus had forged through blood a bond of brotherhood that could only have been severed by the death of one of the two.

But whether Borus was his best friend or not, Percival was still first and foremost a knight, a soldier. Losing men, be they acquaintances, friends, or brothers, was a well- established part of the life he had chosen. Percival would have quickly accepted Borus's inevitable death and moved on had it not been for one thing: he was the one responsible for his friend's present condition.

A month ago, during the operation to surround the lizard troops within Minas, Percival had been assigned to hide with two companies in the forests south of the town and to attack the left lizard flank after Borus lured the strength of the rear over to the right flank. He had thus snuck into the forest at night with the 200 men, ready to wait for their cue. Even though winter had stripped the forest of its foliage, the woodland area was so dense that the thick trunks of its trees, which grew very close together, provided the men with enough cover.

But within that forest, Percival and his men had made a very interesting discovery. While they were looking for shelter the first evening during some rather heavy snowfall, one platoon found a cave entrance leading underground, hidden within profuse bare branches of overhanging trees. When they entered, they saw that the cave was anything but a random product of nature, despite its innocent appearance. Inside, along one of the walls of the small dark grotto, was a sealed stone doorway. This was, without a doubt, one of the openings to the Lizard Clan's infamous underground highway system. Because the Zexens knew so little about where such openings lied, they were often surprised and cost the upper hand in battle when enemy reinforcements seemingly appeared out of nowhere. This doorway was no small find.

The platoon sergeant quickly informed Percival, and they spent most of the next day figuring out how to move the huge stone slab blocking the entrance. Finally, a hidden lever was found beneath the snow a short distance outside the cave. It took a dozen men to pull it, but Percival did finally manage to open the doorway.

Percival's first instinct had been to send a messenger to inform Galahad of the discovery, but it might blow his cover should any knight be seen leaving the forest. Instead, he did something that he would later come to greatly regret: he took one squad and entered the dark tunnel himself, leaving the rest of his men to wait for him outside. His intention had only been to scout a little ways into the ancient highway, to make some observations and to learn the general direction in which it leads. He figured that he'd only be gone a short while, and since it was only his second day in the forest, he wouldn't get the attack signal during that time.

But he did not get what he expected, and since this was the first time any Zexens ever entered these underground network of tunnels dug by the lizards, he was not even sure what he expected in the first place. The place was a huge pitch-black labyrinth, with passageways branching off in all directions. Within an hour, he and his squad were utterly disoriented and could not locate their way back to the entrance. They completely lost track of time and direction, knowing only that they needed to find their way out soon, or they would miss the attack signal.

It had seemed to Percival like he and his men had spent months wandering within those ghastly, dark, stifling passageways, desperately seeking an exit. They were with no food and little water. Thankfully, torches used by the Lizard Clan itself were placed on the ground alongside the tunnels for their entire lengths, and the men were able to use them for light once their own lanterns burned out. Finally, they were able to find a doorway blocked with a slab of stone, obviously not the one they entered from. They located the lever, opened the doorway, and found themselves in some foothills twenty miles southwest of the forest.

Since he had been unable to distinguish between day and night in the underground highway, Percival did not know right then how much time he had really spent within its gloom. All he knew was that the attack cue had probably come and gone. He had missed it, and his men would not have begun the assault without his presence. He knew that he had botched up his assignment, but what he didn't know at the time was just what his failure had entailed for Borus.

He and his squad made their way to a Zexen outpost. There, they learned that two days had passed since they entered the ancient highway. They borrowed horses and rode back to the forest, where they found that his companies had already left. When Percival finally arrived at the field headquarters that evening, he was told by Salome about the encirclement of Borus and one of his companies due to Percival's failure to comply with the signal to attack.

Galahad, Pelize, and Salome had all forgiven Percival, saying that although the decisions he made were not the wisest ones, he had nevertheless done Zexen a great service by locating not one, but two openings to the lizards' underground highways. But Percival couldn't forgive himself that easily. After all, Borus had depended upon him to do his part in their mission. He had failed to do so, and now his friend and a whole bunch of other people were facing a very dire fate.

To make up for his mistakes, Percival convinced his superiors to allow him to attempt a breakthrough of the lizard lines. But there had been too many concerns going through his mind for him to think with a cool head. He did not plan the offensive thoroughly and rushed in preparing his men for battle. Against Salome's advice, he had thrown his troops against the lizard ranks in a display of brute force, which had never been the best strategy to use when fighting the Lizard Clan. As a result, four furious days of fighting achieved absolutely nothing but more casualties and a further blemish upon his creditability. The losses of that battle were so heavy that it had most likely been the only time that Galahad would allow for a rescue attempt, and Percival had wasted it.

Despite what Salome had been telling him during these past weeks about not getting his hopes up, Percival was certain that Borus was currently still alive, simply because the knights at Haysmorth had yet to surrender. The fact that the company had stood against the latest attack on Yule night two weeks ago was in itself confirmation that Borus was still alive at that time. And if Borus had died since, the rest of the company surely would have immediately surrendered afterwards, and Zexen would have heard about it from the Lizard Clan itself by now, which they hadn't.

But he wouldn't be alive for much longer. If Percival knew his friend at all, he was far too arrogant to surrender as long as he was alive, no matter how hopeless he knew his situation was. He was going to hang on to that wretched village until he starves to death or gets killed off by the lizards. Then Percival would have to be the one to go tell Borus's mother that because of him, she would never see her youngest son again.

And Percival knew that he could never live that down.

* * *

Chris woke up about two hours prior to the start of the meeting. The ride from the Yaza Plains down to Brass Castle had only taken half a day, but the stress of this past month had taken its toll upon the young woman. When she arrived at noon, she had been all too eager to take a stroll around the castle she had been away from for so long. But as soon as she had taken off her armor and lied down upon a bunker in the knights' barracks with the intention of taking only a short rest, she fell into a heavy sleep and was awakened by Salome a startling four hours later.

"Milady, it's not long before the meeting now. I think you'd best get ready." Salome gently shook her shoulder.

Chris quickly sat up. "Oh, my… I didn't realize I'd slept for so long."

"Your weariness is understandable. I didn't want to wake you earlier, milady, but I'd like to tell you now that high-ranking officers like yourself have special suites reserved for them upstairs. I already had the servants take your belongings up to your room for you. You shouldn't have to sleep here with the regular soldiers."

"Oh, that's right. I'm forgot." She chuckled lightly. "Actually, I used to sleep over at some town inn when I came here in the past, since Leo didn't find it appropriate for me to sleep in the barracks with men. But I guess I was just too tired to bother when I arrived."

Salome gave her one of his rare smiles. "Well, you must be hungry now. You should go get some food in the mess hall. I think they're serving roast goose and cherry pie tonight."

"Sounds good. I guess I'll get going." She stood up.

Salome turned to leave. "I'll see you at six, milady."

Chris left the barracks and headed across the hall for the cafeteria. Since she had entirely skipped lunch, the dinner she was served tasted far better than it probably actually was. She gulped it down quickly, and as she was leaving the mess hall, she bumped into Leo, who was just coming in for his own supper.

"Lord Leo!"

"Hey! Look who it is!" Leo's voice boomed against the walls of the mess hall.

"It's good to see you again, sir."

Leo laughed, throwing his great, ponytailed head back. "Now, I don't think there's any need for you to address me like that anymore."

"It's only a temporary promotion, you know. Besides, old habits die hard. How's things been going on the Amur?"

"Same old deadlock between us and the Grassies. You haven't been missing much action, if that's what you're worried about."

"Just hang in there. I'm sure the Council will come to their senses about sending reinforcements once they see that our men haven't budged an inch towards Karaya since the start of winter."

"Hmph. Those pig-headed bastards? I wouldn't bet on it."

"Then we'll all come up with something at the meeting later."

Leo grunted. "You know, Chris, strategy meetings never were my thing."

"Well, I'm sure you'd much rather be swinging your axe about out in the field," Chris replied with a smile, "but I think you should at least enjoy this chance to be back here at Brass. I mean, the beds, the shops, the food…"

"Yes, speaking of the food…" Leo suddenly turned his attention to a big plate of sliced meat being carried to a nearby table full of hungry knights. "If you'll excuse me, milady. My stomach's just killing me."

"Right, of course. I'll see you at the meeting later, s—Leo."

Chris headed out into the main corridor of the castle. Ah, it was so good to be back! This place held so many dear memories for her. It was where she had spent most of her squire years, where she had stood her vigil, where she was finally knighted. Here within these hallowed stone walls of the great fortress was the only place, aside from the battlefield, that she truly felt at home in. Many of the other knights and infantrymen warmly greeted her, congratulating her on her promotion. Her designation as the only female knight of Zexen had made her name and accomplishments well known among their ranks.

She went up to her chambers on the second floor. It was larger than she expected, consisting of two smaller rooms. Upon first entering, she found herself in a snug sitting room, and further back through an open doorway was her bedroom. Like Salome had said, her belongings had already been moved up here, and she found her coat of armor set upon a stand in the bedroom.

Chris decided to put the armor on for now. The meeting was to be a formal one, so she would be expected to wear it there. It took her a half hour to fit herself into the many separate articles of the full body armor: the breastplate, the shoulder pauldrons, the protective skirt, the iron boots. Just as she was snapping on her metal gauntlets, she realized that the armor felt heavier than it usually did. Though it had been custom-made for her to be lighter then the men's, forty pounds instead of the usual sixty, its weight bore down upon her in a way she hadn't felt since she first received the armor. I must be really getting out of shape, she thought. It was true that she had spent less time in intense physical activity than usual during the past month.

But the last thing she wanted to do was spend the last hour before the meeting training. After all, she'd probably have to leave Brass early the next morning, and who can say when she would be back next time? After she tied up her long silver hair up into a bun, she decided to take a leisurely walk around the surrounding castle town.

As she made her way through the noisy crowds of the town's busy late afternoon streets, Chris felt oddly ill at ease. The civilians all about her, shopping, working, running errands, or just taking a walk like she was, seemed very far removed from herself. After the long months she had spent at war, these people gave the impression of being so innocent, so carefree, so unaware of the horrors she herself had witnessed and participated in on the battlefields. She felt alienated from them, like there was no way she could ever relate to any of them, nor them to her. Perhaps it was a common reaction for all soldiers returning to a place still untouched by the ugly hands of war, but Chris nevertheless was bothered by this feeling. Someday, after peace has been restored and she has done her duty for Zexen, she did hope to lead a normal life. Would she be prevented by her experiences from ever being able to do so?

She shook the thought. Save it for when peace is actually here, she told herself. For now, the war and my responsibilities in it are all I should be worrying about.

Chris decided that she could use some quiet and solitude for now, which was difficult to find here in town. Young boys, their cheeks rosy from playing outside in the cold, kept eagerly running up to her, as they did to all armored knights wandering about the streets. They begged to see her sword and asked questions about whether the lizards are as scary in battle as they looked or how many barbarians she'd killed so far.

She headed for the eastern bridge on the outside of the castle town's walls. Here, the only people were patrolling guards and young couples, whispering lovers' words in each other's ears as they watched the winter sunset. She walked along the bridge, looking over the stone rails to the deceivingly peaceful snowfields below.

Suddenly, Chris caught sight of another knight, a handsome dark-haired young man who was standing alone by the rails and staring out at the scenery, apparently lost in thought. Percival, she quickly recognized. The famous Swordsman of Gale himself. And she could take a pretty good guess as to what he was brooding about.

As she now guiltily admitted to herself, Chris had not devoted too much concern over the past month to the man she was currently replacing as commander of Regiment Three. She instead concentrated her efforts on taking over the role herself. She did feel much sympathy for the people under the Haysmorth siege, but because she didn't personally know Borus, she was able to keep her emotions out of it.

Of course, it had to be different with Percival. Except for a very brief time during her squire years, Chris had never met either of the young men in person, only heard about their formidable reputations. But what she did know from what she'd heard and from occasionally seeing the two together was that they formed the very image of brotherhood. She and Percival had not had the chance to meet each other during the past month, and she couldn't help but wonder if Percival resented her for the fact that Galahad so readily replaced Borus with herself.

She walked up beside the young lieutenant, although he didn't notice her presence until she spoke up. "Hello, Sir Percival."

Percival almost jumped at the sudden sound of her voice. When he realized who it was, he smiled. "My, my. If it isn't Lady Chris. Well, good evening." He gently took her gauntleted hand in his and touched it to his forehead. "They _did _describe you as a lovely woman, but now that I've seen you up close for myself, I can say I find that a gross understatement. I suppose you're taking a light stroll just before the meeting?"

Well, what she'd heard about his charm certainly wasn't false. Chris smiled back. "Yes. I regret not having the opportunity to make your acquaintance before."

"Likewise. I've heard so many good things from Galahad about you. You'll be a wonderful successor to Borus, I'm sure."

Chris turned away to face the fields. "Do you really think he's dead?"

"He's not yet, but he might as well be."

Chris was taken aback by his cold response. "What do you mean?"

"Well, knowing him, he'd die before surrendering to the lizards, and I highly doubt Galahad's gonna approve of another breakthrough attempt. It's just not worth it."

Chris shook her head. "Surely you don't feel that way."

Percival shrugged nonchalantly. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

"You don't know that for sure." She sighed. "Galahad, Salome, and all them. They keep talking about Sir Borus as if they know he's already dead. I didn't expect you to be the same way."

"I think it's best for us knights not to get carried away with sentimental matters, don't you agree, milady?"

"Yes, but still…"

"Borus is my friend, but he's going to die, and that's all there is to it."

"But that can't be what you want."

"Shouldn't it be what my lady wants, though?" It was subtle, but a trace of sharp cynicism could be detected in his voice.

"What!" At that statement, Chris suddenly slammed her palm down hard against the surface of the stone railing. "How _dare_ you insinuate such a thing! You think I want a man to die just so I can usurp his position! Since I'm here already, I want to do the best job I can, but it wasn't even my choice to be here in the first place!"

"Milady, I—"

"As long as there are Zexens trapped in that village, I don't think it's _not worth it_ to save them, because it's our job as knights to protect the Zexen people, is it not?"

Dear Goddess, I just yelled at the Swordsman of Gale himself, Chris suddenly realized, a man I barely met. But as she looked up at him, she saw that the look he gave her was not of one of disdain, but of awe and deference.

"Yes, milady. Of course. I'm sorry. What I said was out of line." He paused. "And you're right. We mustn't give up hope about Haysmorth."

"No."

Both knights remained silent for a long moment. Finally, Percival spoke up. "I think we should get going now. We won't hear the end of it from Salome if we showed up late for the meeting."

"Yes, you're right."

The two started to head back for the castle together. Suddenly, just before they reached the gates to the town, Percival turned to her. "Galahad wasn't lying about you, Chris. I know I've only just met you, but from what I can see so far, I'm glad that if anyone's going to be taking over Borus's position, it's you." He paused. "I'm sure Borus would think so too."

Chris stopped. She turned her head slowly and brought her eyes up to meet with his for a brief moment, and she saw that they were sincere. "Thank you, Percival."

* * *

Salome Harras once again looked around the second-floor meeting room of Brass Castle. He, Galahad, Pelize, and Leo were sitting quietly on the couches and armchairs placed around a round wooden tea table. Roland was standing behind them, leaning against the back wall with his arms folded and staring out the nearest window into the dim twilight with a distant look on his face. Pelize was bending forward onto the table and drumming his fingers against its surface. The room was lit by several torches set upon holders on the walls.

The strategist sighed. Percival he might have expected to be late, but Chris? He was willing to bet that it had something to do with the dark-haired lieutenant. But he didn't want to be too hard on the young man. He knew that the last month had been difficult for Percival, not just because his best friend was facing death, but, more importantly, because he blamed himself for it. And the fact that Percival was convinced that Borus was still alive but was nevertheless unable to do anything for him surely made it even more frustrating.

Finally, Salome heard the sound of footsteps growing closer from outside the room, metal boots clanking against the stone floor. The door to the meeting room opened, and the two missing lieutenants entered.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Percival said in greeting, closing the double-doors behind him. "I do apologize for my lateness. And Lady Chris's as well, as I will not deny to have held her up."

"I dread to question further upon that, Percival," Pelize retorted, to which Leo responded with a laugh. Roland rolled his eyes, and Chris, standing beside Percival, turned her head away in embarrassment. But the big grin on Percival's face clearly stated that he was anything but serious. How in the world does he keep this up all day? Salome wondered.

"Well, Chris," Galahad began. "It looks like you've already acquainted yourself with Percival here. All that's left is Roland, I believe."

The tall lavender-haired elf stepped forth from the shadows and walked up to her. "My lady," he stated somberly as he knelt down on one knee, took her hand, and touched his forehead to it.

"Senior Lieutenant Roland Lesaurus, as you already know," Galahad added, "is the elf commander of Regiment Four, the only all-archers regiment within the Knights. And Roland, this is Acting Senior Lieutenant Chris Lightfellow, currently filling in for Sir Borus."

"Pleased to meet you, Sir Roland," Chris said with a polite smile.

"Pleasure's all mine, milady." Roland stepped back and took his place against the wall as soon as the introductions were over. Couldn't possibly be more outgoing, could you, Roland? Salome thought to himself.

"Well," Salome spoke up. "Now that we all know each other, let's not waste any more time than we already have." He shot a stony glance at Percival. "Sit down, you two." Chris and Percival quickly took their seats on a couch next to each other.

The first hour of the meeting was spent on a general overview of the war at the present time. Leo described the situation on the Amur Plains, as well as the northward campaign towards the Thime River. Percival went over the ongoing standoff in Minas, which he had been involved in since the failed offensive towards Haysmorth. Chris then reviewed the series of minor skirmishes that her regiment fought in directly to the west of the Great Hollow. Since Roland's companies of archers were spread out throughout the regions and his regiment didn't have a specific area of combat, he remained silent, simply taking the information in. Finally, Galahad explained the current unpromising state of the infantry's drive to capture the major lizard settlement of Brucka far to the southeast.

Salome listened carefully, thinking throughout the entire time that this was not how Zexen should be fighting the war. The troops were too overextended, involved in too many offensive operations. They should be concentrating their offensive strength in one area, preferably in the Karaya campaign, and maintaining defensive positions elsewhere. Zexen should be taking things one at a time, not spreading its might out like this.

He silently shook his head. All this mess was the Council's doing. Ignorant and over-ambitious, the Councilmen had insisted on fighting an overly aggressive war, completely underestimating the strength of the Grassland resistance. If it weren't for the interference of those politicians, Salome was certain that the war would have concluded with clear Zexen gains soon after Zexen invaded Grassland with the intention of conquering a portion of it. But their constant meddling had dragged the war on for four bloody years, and the end was still nowhere in sight. This is perhaps Zexen's greatest weaknesses, Salome thought to himself. A lot of elected merchant officials with no understanding of how war should be fought are the ones who control how it is fought.

Finally, all issues had been addressed but one, and Salome took it upon himself to attend to it. "Now, as we are all aware, there is still the matter of Haysmorth. I believe it is the most pressing matter at the moment, not because it is the most important, but because it is imperative that we decide _now _onhow to handle it. We cannot delay any longer."

"Yes, Salome. You're right." Galahad turned to him. "Why don't you quickly go over what we currently know about Haysmorth's present state?"

Salome nodded. "The last news we heard from Haysmorth was the Yuletide attack, which we can confirm was a failure for the Lizards. After that to this very day, we have not heard any news from the Lizard Clan about either the surrender or annihilation of the knights still there, so we can only assume that the siege is still going on. But, of course, we cannot verify how many knights and villagers are left or whether Borus is alive. The Lizard—"

"Borus is alive, Salome," Percival suddenly interrupted. His voice was perfectly calm and assured, and he looked down casually at his gauntlets as he spoke.

"We've been over this, Percival," Salome replied evenly. "We have no proof whatsoever that—"

"They still haven't surrendered. What other proof do you need? What other conceited, stubborn jackass—excuse my language, milady—would still refuse to give up in such an utterly hopeless situation like this while everyone around him dies? Trust me on this, Salome, he's alive."

"Even if you're right, the fact that he's alive can't alone justify the costs of another operation to break the siege."

"I'm not trying to justify anything here. All I'm doing is telling you that he's still alive right now."

"Percival, I understand how you must feel—"

That was when Percival suddenly lost his cool, one of the few times Salome had ever seen it happen. He jerked forward and forcefully slammed a fist against the surface of the wooden table, making such a loud thump that Salome thought the table might crack. "Damn it, Salome! You have _no_ _idea_ how I feel! That man entrusted me with his life! I failed him and look where he is now!"

"Percival!" Galahad snapped assertively. "That's _enough_!" Percival shot one last angry glare at the strategist and slumped back against the couch with his arms folded. "That was completely inappropriate! This meeting is no place for outbursts like that!"

"Lord Galahad, if I may," Salome spoke out calmly. Galahad looked at him and nodded. Salome turned his attention to Percival. "Percival, despite what you may think, I _can_ sympathize with you. As a strategist, every mistake I make results in the deaths of hundreds of our men, men who entrusted their lives with me. But nevertheless, if I am to do my job, I must keep a cool head and recognize what rational decisions must be made. As a senior lieutenant, Percival, the same is expected of you."

By now, Percival had fully regained his composure. As Salome finished, he glimpsed up at him. "I'm sorry, Salome." The usual aloof tone had returned to his voice. "That _was _rather inappropriate of me. And you're absolutely right." He chuckled lightly. "I was starting to sound a bit like Lord Borus himself back there, wasn't I?"

"Well," Pelize picked up. "Now that this little melodrama's been played out, why don't we get back to business? I believe that armed conflict is certainly not the best course of action here. We don't even have enough concrete information to know if there's anyone left to save in Haysmorth. If any knights are still alive, the best we can hope for if they are to remain so is for them to surrender."

Salome nodded. "I agree with Lord Pelize." He looked to Galahad.

The captain sighed. "I suppose there is no other logical option right now. If we all agree, then immediately, I can issue an official order for the company in Haysmorth to surrender. We can have a Grassland messenger deliver it to Borus or whoever's in charge now."

Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted the meeting. "Yes?" Galahad called out.

"I have an urgent message for the captain," a man's voice replied through the doors. "It concerns Haysmorth."

"Well, isn't that a coincidence," Leo muttered as Galahad beckoned for the messenger to enter.

"Captain Galahad," the messenger began. "I'm here to inform you that at half past three this afternoon, our scouts have confirmed another lizard attack upon Haysmorth, the third one this month. I promptly came to deliver this message, and the results of the battle had not yet been determined at the time of my departure."

A spell of silence was cast upon the officers as they absorbed the information. Finally, Galahad dismissed the messenger. "What say you to this sudden new development, Salome?" he asked after the messenger left.

Salome shook his head. "All we can do now is wait, my lord. If the lizards are successful in their assault, the knights will be killed or taken prisoner, and there is nothing we can do. If those men manage to hold out once more, then I suppose we should have that surrender order delivered."

"I beg to differ, sir," Chris's unexpected voice suddenly rose up. She grew notably tense as the attentions of the six other knights in the room all turned to her. "Whether or not the lizards are successful in their assault, they'll be briefly left vulnerable by it. During this time, we can launch an attack to capture the lizard settlement of Placia to the west of the Great Hollow. It's only about twenty-five miles from the current front lines, and the defense before it is quite weak. I believe that taking over Placia would be very advantageous to Zexen, because it would provide us with a stepping-stone to the Great Hollow itself." She took a deep breath and paused momentarily, looking to Galahad.

"Go on, Chris," Galahad pressed.

"Well, if we decide to do that, we can also launch a simultaneous attack a bit to the north to try to free Haysmorth again. Since the Lizard Clan will most likely concentrate their troops on defending Placia, the breakthrough should be…well, less difficult than before."

"But how will we know if there's anyone left to free at Haysmorth by then?" Pelize inquired.

"We won't, but even if there isn't, we still get the village back, as well as the portion of the Yaza Plains to the west of it. And if the knights there did manage to hold out, it would be even better. Just think of the publicity: one company of knights under siege valiantly stood up for a whole winter month against repeated lizard onslaughts, holding on to a Zexen village against all odds and refusing to surrender to the enemy. They'll be heroes, and we all know that hearing about heroes like that gives our men and all of Zexen a great morale boost."

"Not to mention the Council will love it," Salome added, upturning the corners of his mouth into a slight smile. That was really quite good. Right there on her feet, Chris had thought up feasible plan backed with rationale, and she knew exactly what to say to convince her superiors to carry it out. He was really gaining more and more respect for the young woman. Even after all the praise that he had heard about her from the captain, Salome wasn't quite expecting this, and he certainly was pleasantly surprised.

And it seemed like he wasn't the only one. "Hmm… I like that," Percival said. "Certainly better than the one about the surrender order." He nodded at Chris. "You'd better watch yourself, Salome, or you might wind up getting outclassed."

Leo grunted. "Yeah. I'd rather see some action than just wait around. What say you, Galahad?"

Galahad smiled proudly at Chris. "I knew I didn't promote you for nothing, Chris. That sounds like it just might work."

Suddenly, Roland, who had been quiet for practically the entire evening, spoke up. "It is a good plan, but we musn't forget that if we want to carry it out, we must do so very soon. We will not have much time to prepare the troops."

"My men on the southern Yaza are standing by and ready for action, my lord," Chris said to Galahad. "If you'll allow me, I can head over immediately and prepare them tonight. We can be ready to attack by morning."

Percival sat up. "My men as well. I can spearhead one assault, Lady Chris the other."

"No, Percival," Galahad immediately stated firmly. "After your little outburst tonight, I'm not quite sure you're up to the task."

Percival nodded obediently and leaned back against the couch. "I understand, my lord. I did fail in the first breakthrough attempt, after all. This operation should be left to more capable hands." It was a mature thing to do, and Salome had expected as much from Percival. But nevertheless, he couldn't but help feel a bit sorry for the young man.

"I'll lead Percival's men myself," Galahad announced. "Roland, I'm aware that you have a few companies up at Yaza."

"Yes, my lord," Roland replied impassively.

"Then I want you to come with me. We'll be going for Haysmorth. Chris, you and Pelize are to lead your troops to strike at Placia. We coordinate our movements in the morning."

"Vice-captain Pelize, sir?" Chris inquired.

"Yes. This will be your first major confrontation in your current position. I definitely want someone with you."

"Yes, sir."

"Percival, Leo, Salome, you're all to stand by here at Brass. We haven't really resolved that much tonight on any of the other issues, and I want you here ready if anything goes wrong." All three uttered their agreements. Galahad pointed to Chris, Roland, and Pelize. "You three, get ready to head out as soon as possible. We'll work out further details once we're out on the plains." Finally Galahad turned to Salome. "I'll leave it up to you should the Council decide give us any trouble, Salome."

"Of course, my lord." Salome watched as Chris stood up and prepared to leave the room. If he ever had any doubts about Galahad's former squire being picked to serve as an acting senior lieutenant, they were now drastically lowered. After all he had seen and heard, he could tell that the potential for the young female knight was enormous. All that was left was to see if she could successfully pull off tomorrow morning's assault.

Good luck, milady, he thought. I shall pray to Sadie for your victory and safe return.

* * *

End Note: Yay! Now that the vast majority of flashbacks are officially over, the story can really pick up. And I promise that future chapters will have more action and character development and less military reporting (which was sort of necessary for setting everything up). And before anyone flames me about it, no, I'm not a military expert, and I have no idea whether any of the military crap I made up here is actually plausible or not. Hey, at least I tried. Anyway, please review if you read it so far and have any opinions/criticisms whatsoever. 


	3. Chapter 3

The misty dawn on the Yaza Plains was fresh and cold. Morning fog limited visibility to only a few dozen meters or so, but Roland knew that the knights could only use that to their advantage. The lizards' daytime eyesight was worse that that of humans, or elves, for that matter. The haze would provide the knights with perfect cover as they launched their surprise attack. The lizard lines were only a few miles to the east, but according to Zexen intelligence, they were still unaware of the knight forces congregated so close to them.

Roland kicked his bay steed into a steady trot. The horse was not a burly destrier like the ones used by most of the knights who fought with swords. Instead, it was tall, lean, and long-legged; suitable for an archer who rarely ventured into the heat of battle, who needed only a fast mount to carry his weight as he circled the battlefield like a vulture, sniping off enemies with deadly precision.

"Easy, Lightfoot." Roland soothed his stallion as it was startled by a soldier who accidentally crashed into its side due to the roughhousing of a comrade. Roland shot the young knight a harsh glare, sending him to scurry off after a quick, nervous apology.

The horse made its way through the three inches of snow covering the grass and through the hordes of men gathered on the plains, waiting for the order to start the assault towards Haysmorth. These troops belonged to three companies of Percival's Regiment One, currently commanded by Galahad. Having been told to keep themselves quiet, they were now passing the time by sparring together to warm up their skills or boasting to each other to raise spirits or making final promises to one another in case they don't make it out of the coming battle.

Roland watched the men aloofly. He had never one to participate in such rituals. He had always felt that the fact that he was an elf isolated him from the rest of the knights. Not that he minded, of course. After all, why would he pledge his allegiance to the Zexen Knights if he did? He was here to serve the nation he had grown to love as his very own, not to make friends.

"Roland!"

The elf turned around at the sound of his name being called and saw the captain, riding atop his magnificent white stallion, head his way. He halted his own mount and waited for Galahad to reach him.

"Just got news from Chris and Pelize," Galahad said as he pulled his horse up beside Roland's. "They're in position and all set to go. They're gonna start the offensive at around quarter past seven. We're gonna wait here until we hear word that their attack is under way, then we'll head out for the lizard lines ourselves. After that, you and your archers know what to do."

"Yes, sir. I'll inform my men." He rode off towards his single company of horseback archers, waiting a distance away, separate from Galahad's troops.

On his way, his thoughts turned to Chris Lightfellow, that young woman that Galahad had cryptically promoted to Borus's position. He was almost certain that the captain had been sleeping with her when she was his squire, and Galahad probably called her up at the opportunity of Borus's absence so that they could continue their relationship. Why else would the only female knight of Zexen suddenly get promoted to the rank of senior lieutenant, no less, when there were so many capable males available?

Such is the way of humans, I suppose, he thought to himself. Even sensible, upright men like Galahad can't help but let their passions get the better of their evenhandedness and common sense. However, he couldn't deny that Chris had been most impressive at the strategy meeting last night. Perhaps Salome was the real one who had thought up the attack plan, and then Galahad made sure that she was the one who related it in order to secure her credibility. But then again, he had to take into account the fact that the message of the third lizard attack at Haysmorth didn't come until the meeting was well under way. Anyhow, he thought, one little accomplishment doesn't make the man, so to speak.

He shook his head. He must not be so hypocritical. After all, he was the only elf among the Zexen Knights, and he had been made a regiment commander despite the fact that many capable humans were available. But even so, it wasn't quite the same. Elves were greatly renowned as expert archers, and Roland was no exception. Women didn't exactly have the reputation for being warriors. Although he had heard stories of this silver-haired female taking down a dozen barbarians with one swing of her sword, he was sure that such tales were greatly exaggerated due to the fact that the men had simply never seen a Zexen woman who could fight at all.

Yes, Roland knew that Chris probably did have some ability to fight and lead. But well enough to make her a senior lieutenant without some personal favor from Galahad? He highly doubted it.

The elf reached his company gathered around their own section of the plains. He rode up in their midst and called out loudly in his stern voice, "Listen up!" He waited for his men to quiet down and give him their full attention. "The attack is going to start a bit after seven-fifteen. That means you still have twenty minutes or so to tighten your bowstrings, check the straightness of your arrows, and do whatever you have to do before the battle starts. I suggest you all use it wisely. We ride out immediately once we get the order."

As he finished, the men gave their oral expressions of compliance and went about their business. In the distance, Roland could hear Galahad giving his 300 men a stirring pre-battle speech. Patriotic stuff about serving the Zexen Federation and dying gloriously in battle and so forth. Roland never made such sermons for his men. He always did his duty as a leader in battle, but he believed that motivating oneself to fight was the responsibility of only that individual and no one else. If his men couldn't find it in themselves to rouse their own spirits for combat, then there was nothing he could do for them.

For the next half hour, Roland spent his time drifting among the ranks of his men, watching their progress as they prepared themselves by inspecting their weapons and horses. By the end of this time frame, most of the company had already mounted, bows and quivers slung across their backs. The seemingly endless wait for the attack signal became ever more insufferable for the increasingly restless archers. Finally, Roland heard the sounds of Galahad's companies on the move a distance away, though he could not see them through the fog. Then, out of the mist, one of the knights of Regiment One galloped towards Roland's company at full speed.

"We're departing! The Fourth, Seventh, and Eighth Companies are already leaving for the rendezvous point! The Twenty-Sixth Company under Sir Roland is to move out immediately!"

As soon as the message was over, Roland called out to his men. "All right. You heard him. Let's move it." The ground rumbled as the archers ushered forth their steeds all at once to leave for the pre-determined gathering point right before the lizard lines, about a ten-minute ride away.

Roland let his company fall behind while the troops of Regiment One took the lead as the knights made their way across the snow-blanketed plains. He rode ahead to find Galahad, in case the captain wanted one last word with him.

He found Galahad riding at the forefront of his men. There is my leader, he thought proudly. A courageous man willing to fight and die along with the rest of his troops. Even if he did appoint a woman to the position of regiment commander on the sole basis of sex, Roland nevertheless greatly respected him for his sound, prudent leadership. He rode up to the captain. "Sir," he hailed.

"Roland! I hope you're ready for some action."

"Ready as I'll ever be, my lord. Please take care of yourself."

"Of course. Well then, for Borus, his company, and the Haysmorth villagers, let's go show those lizards the color of their insides."

* * *

Pelize dug his heel hard into the sides of his chestnut charger as it tore through the lizard masses. Letting out a passionate battle cry to match his pumping adrenaline, he thrust his sword down to his left and plunged it deep into the neck of the nearest scaly warrior. As he pulled metal free from flesh, a fountain of liquid crimson sprayed across his leg greave and his horse's side. Before the dead lizard fighter could even hit the ground, Pelize's steed had already carried the vice-captain a dozen feet away.

Chaos surrounded Pelize on all sides. Hundreds of knights and lizards were fully engaged in brutal combat that relinquished no mercy for anyone involved. Bloodcurdling war cries blended with the shrieks of the dying to form a chilling, demented chorus. As he rode forth amidst the pandemonium, Pelize saw out of the corner of his eye one young knight, barely out of boyhood, get teamed up upon by two of the enemy. He was knocked off his horse by the broad of a heavy gride that smacked into his side. The second he fell upon the ground, the tip of the lizard's great spear was stabbed into his throat, cutting short his desperate screams and nearly taking off his head entirely. Blood gushed forth from the giant tear in the collar of his armor to further deepen the color of the already-reddened snow underneath him. His body gave one last jerk as his eyes rolled up to show their whites.

Suddenly, the blade of a gride flew up at Pelize's own chest. Had the vice-captain been any slower in his reaction time, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have suffered the same fate as that unfortunate young man. In the blink of an eye, he brought his sword down with both hands against the swinging gride, locking it against the giant spear's razor edge. Sizzling sparks flew as metal clashed against metal. But the lizard warrior was far stronger, and Pelize felt himself loosing the sustained clench against his enemy. All of a sudden, he released one hand from the hilt of his sword and used it to jerk hard on the horn of his horse's saddle. As the stallion quickly and obediently reared up on two legs, Pelize abruptly pulled his blade away from the deadlock, making the lizard lose his stability and stumble forward. He then lost no time in running his temporarily unbalanced opponent through, thrusting his sword into the lizard's mid-back until almost a foot's length of its bloodied tip burst out of the scaly belly. As blood surged out from the lizard fighter's toothy jaws, his clawed fingers loosened, and the gride fell from his hands.

Panting hard, Pelize retracted his sword. Sweat had soaked the inside of his armor, and it was anything but comfortable. But now was not the time to worry about that. As he looked on ahead, he saw a rather alarming sight. Before him, only several meters away, half a dozen lizard warriors with battle-frenzied eyes have turned their attentions to him. They must have recognized him as one of the commanders of the Zexen forces. One of them loudly hissed something in lizard tongue to the others, and the next thing Pelize knew, he was being surrounded on all sides. He inhaled deeply, readying himself to take a chance and try to charge through the enemy ranks. But before he could do anything, a strident battle cry, higher-pitched than the others, sounded from the east, growing louder and louder. He turned his head.

Galloping towards him at full speed with all the fury of a war goddess was the young silver-haired lieutenant herself. She flashed her steel left and right as she charged forth atop her bay stallion, striking down with deadly skill and precision any unlucky lizard that happened to be in her path. The movements of her swordplay were graceful, fluid, almost effortless. Before the lizards that surrounded the vice-captain even realized it, she was upon them. She let her blade hack into the shoulder of the nearest enemy and rip down across his chest in a spray of blood. Quickly, the female knight turned to parry a powerful blow coming from another lizard. As her adversary raised his heavy gride to swing at her again, she, with a smooth twist of her wrist, flipped her sword into a backhand posture and gouged it into his throat. She dodged yet another swipe as she drew her blood-soaked weapon back. The lizards had just about forgotten Pelize by now and were ganging up on her.

Chris was all but overwhelmed. While her sword was grinded against one lizard's gride, another lizard took a strike at her, which she was unable to avoid and could only reposition herself so as to absorb the blow with her shoulderplate. The sharp blade of the lizard weapon was launched with such force that it sliced through her metal armor as if it were made of leather. By then, a third foe had struck at her horse's chest, making it violently rear and throw its rider off its back.

Chris landed hard on her back in the trampled snow, still clutching her sword. She quickly rolled away to narrowly avoid a spear tip stabbing down at her face. Before Pelize could even come to her aid, she leapt to her feet and buried her blade into the closest lizard's gut, while kicking another lizard away from herself with an iron boot. Pelize rode up and slashed through the neck of the lizard tumbling back from her kick. In the meantime, Chris had dispatched two more lizards despite the fact that blood was seeping out of the hole in her left shoulder pauldron.

Suddenly, something was happening among the lizard ranks. Pelize heard the bellowing of cattle horns being loudly blown. He recognized the sound as a retreat signal. Sure enough, all across the battlefield, the lizard fighters were quickly withdrawing. Pelize quickly rode out into the midst of the knights. "Let them retreat for now!" he shouted out. "We'll wait on the pursuit!"

When the enemy had entirely cleared out about half an hour later, the field, littered with the bodies of men, lizards, and horses, was left with an eerie post-battle stillness. Pelize gave the orders for the men to gather their dead, carry their wounded back to medic tents, and round up the prisoners. As the knights set about their tasks, he headed off to find Chris.

Pelize rode across the winter plains, trying to avoid looking at the ground. Normally, the blood spilled upon the battleground would be absorbed into the black earth. But now, the permeable white snow had soaked it up, along with mud, and had turned into a sickening reddish-brown slush. As Pelize glanced over the heaps of bodies of the fallen lizard warriors lying all across the battlefield, he morbidly thought about how rich soil of these grasslands had been fertilized over the last four years by the decomposition of such corpses.

He tracked down Chris in a medic tent a few miles to the west of the battleground. She was sitting upon some wooden crates filled with medical supplies. Her battered armor had been taken off to allow the field medic to bandage her shoulder, and her flowing silver hair had been let down. Upon the vice-captain's entrance, the field medic quickly left to allow the two commanders to discuss their business in private.

To Pelize's great discomfort, he suddenly found his young lieutenant strikingly attractive as she smiled at him upon his entrance. He had just seen her fight like a ferocious devil in the battle that had just passed. But still, right now in her current state, she seemed so delicate and feminine, like someone who needed to be protected. Goddess, he thought. What the hell am I thinking? This is so damn unprofessional.

But her voice, firm, dutiful, and dignified, quickly snapped him out of his reverie. "Sir Pelize. Are you all right, my lord?"

"I believe the question is: are _you _are right, Lieutenant?" He looked at her bandaged shoulder.

"Oh, this? It's just a scratch." She rotated her left arm once around her shoulder joint. "See?"

He smiled and nodded at her. "How's your horse?"

"He's fine. The blow only stunned him. The gride didn't penetrate the armor covering his chest, just made a huge dent. I'll replace his armor later."

"Don't forget to replace yours too."

"Of course, my lord."

"Well, it seems like this battle went rather favorably. You were quite the impressive sight out there, if I may say so myself." Pelize had never spoken truer words. He had often heard Galahad go on and on about how skilled she was with the sword, but he had mostly just shrugged it off as typical parental bragging, since she had been under the captain's tutelage. But now he had seen her in battle for himself, he had absolutely no excuse not to believe Galahad anymore.

"Thank you, my lord. What's your plan for our next course of action?"

"That's actually up to you, Chris. You're the head of this offensive, remember? I'm just here to keep an eye on you."

Chris turned her head away for a moment. "I say, as soon as the Fifteenth and Eighteenth Companies arrive to reinforce our position, we head out to follow up on our victory."  
"That quickly? They'll get here just shortly after noon, you know."

"We're currently making great pace towards Placia, sir, and I wouldn't want to lose that momentum now. Since we caught the lizards off the guards, our casualties aren't that heavy, so we should be able to keep it up. We should strike at them again before they have the chance to recover from the previous battle. Besides, Lord Galahad and Lord Roland are counting on us to draw away the bulk of the lizard forces away from their assault. So are Lord Borus and the rest of the people at Haysmorth."

"And what about your injury?"

"You call _this_ an injury?" she said with a good-humored grin. "I'll be fine. Really." She paused before allowing seriousness to return to her voice. "Anyway, we can leave the Fifteenth Company here to secure this area and set up field stations and transport lines. Is that acceptable, sir?"

"Yes, of course. Again, I'm leaving this up to you, Chris. This operation is supposed to a test of your abilities as a senior lieutenant, after all."

Chris suddenly shot her vice-captain a look of indignation. "With all due respect, my lord, I don't think it's appropriate consider something a 'test' when it involves the loss of so many lives."

Pelize quietly smiled to himself. Quite the noble, righteous knight in shining armor, aren't you, my dear lady? he thought. "No, of course not. Sorry, Chris." He paused. "But if it were a test, I'd say you're doing quite well so far."

Chris avoided his eyes. "Thank you, sir," she said at last, reluctance and aversion in her tone. "If you'll excuse me, my lord, I should go check on my men now." She quickly stood up, threw on a jacket and scarf over her brown tunic, and left the tent.

Pelize watched her go. No matter what some in the Knighthood may say, he thought to himself, Galahad sure hadn't wasted his time with that woman.

* * *

"Release!"

At the sound of Roland's command, a hundred iron-tipped arrows simultaneously flew at the charging lizard legions. All across their ranks, Galahad watched as scores upon scores of scaly warriors, defenseless against the long-range projectiles, fall as arrowheads pierced their bodies. Those whom the arrows did not choose as their marks continued storming towards the knight ranks, completely unfazed.

Leading the charge was unmistakably the lizard commander Dupa, Galahad immediately recognized from the characteristic red headdress. This might be a tougher battle than he had previously thought. Dupa's reputation for being the most ferocious and fearsome of all lizard warriors was every bit true according to what he had previously witnessed in past battles.

The lizards were still far enough away for another round by the archers. Roland looked to Galahad at the forefront of his cavalry companies, who gave the approval signal back. "Draw!" the elf ordered. He withdrew another feathered arrow from his quiver and pulled it back against his tightened bowstring. He aimed upward and made adjustments to account for the diminishing distance between his lines and the charging lizards. He waited a few moments as all his archers, sitting upon their horses in formation, followed suite.

"Ready. Mark. Release!" Roland shouted out, allowing for an extended pause between each word. He then let fly his own arrow along with that of the others. All at once, Galahad watched as the sky once again filled with a stream of soaring projectiles that fell upon the advancing enemy. Immediately, their forces became further reduced as the arrows found their targets and painted the snow beneath them red.

It was time for Galahad to make his move. These lizard ranks were the last line of defense before Haysmorth itself. The farmlands of the village lied just miles beyond to the east. Having scattered the lizards' front lines earlier this morning, the knights had continued to push the enemy back until they were now at the gates of their target destination. Last night, Zexen intelligence reports had brought back the news that yesterday's lizard attack upon Haysmorth had yet again been a failure. There indeed were still people to be rescued in that village.

The Great Hollow had as of yet sent no reinforcements to help counter Galahad's offensive, and the captain knew that he had Chris to thank for that. He had earlier received from a messenger the coordinates of her forces' current position. She had by then advanced almost halfway towards Placia, so Galahad knew that her maneuver was presently keeping the Lizard Clan's hands tied.

Galahad gave Roland the hand signal for him to hold further fire. He drew his sword and brought his warhorse to full alertness by kicking it softly with his heels. His men noticed his movements and prepared themselves to charge at his command.

The captain hollered the attack order, and the trumpeter beside him blasted hard into his brass bugle to herald the directive. The earth thundered as several hundred horseback knights rushed in to meet the approaching lizards. Their fortifying battle cries rumbled across the plains and merged with those of their enemy. Galahad was at their lead. He hurled himself into the gride-wielding masses atop his galloping white steed. He tore through their ranks, felling any lizard that his sword found its way into.

His men, right upon his heels, plunged themselves amidst the enemy swarms. They knew that in this battle, just as any other, any previous notions of knightly honor would be temporarily suspended. They would show no mercy towards their opponents, and they understood that the favor would be fully returned.

Just as Galahad slashed open yet another lizard throat, a dark flash whistled past him, and the arrowhead ripped into the open jaws of a scaly creature before him. Roland and his archers had kept their distance from the main action. As the other knights fought, they strayed about the fringes of the battle, seizing any opportunity to take aim and fire into the fray with tremendous accuracy, picking off the enemy one by one.

Galahad swished his sword at the air to fling off some of the blood clinging to it. He took a brief moment to look over the tumultuous battlefield towards the general direction of Haysmorth. After a month under siege, salvation for those still alive within that village was finally here at hand.

* * *

Borus did not even have the chance to shave that morning. He and his remaining thirteen uninjured men had left for the knights' mass grave in the farmlands north of Haysmorth at around four in the morning. The stick gathering, burial, and reciting of rites for his fallen men took several hours. The knights then headed over to the burial canals west of the village to pay their respects to the slain villagers laid to rest there.

It was then that the sounds of fighting began. It could be heard vaguely, far to the west. Borus couldn't believe it. The Zexens must be trying to break through again! He had yet to tell his men and the villagers of his resolution to surrender, and he had very little slept last night, brooding over how he would break it to them. He knew it wouldn't an easy decision to relate, since no one knew how the lizards would treat them once they surrendered. Perhaps all the villagers would be slaughtered, and the knights would be tortured in captivity. But even so, Borus knew that he had to take this chance. Anything was better than suffering the prolonged, agonizing death that awaited them should they remain in these burnt ruins of Haysmorth.

But now, it seemed that surrender might not be necessary. The men and the villagers had cheered upon hearing the distant blasts of trumpets, rallies of war cries, and clashes of live steel carried to them upon the wind. This had been their only glimmer of hope ever since the sounds of the last rescue attempt had faded weeks ago. They waited, praying that this time, the battle noises would intensify, edge closer to Haysmorth. And this time, their hopes were realized. By early afternoon, the fight was raging just beyond the outer reaches of the village farmlands. Borus, along with the others, headed over to the western fields to await its end result.

Borus had to wrestle down his overwhelming impulse to rush over and aid his liberators. No, he told himself firmly. There are only fourteen of us who could fight. We're weak, exhausted, and we don't have any horses. We'll die out there, and even if we don't, we won't be of much help to the main Zexen forces. I can't let my men get killed now when we're just on the verge of rescue. He was surprised at how levelheaded that assessment was coming from himself. It almost seemed like a decision Percival might have made. As much as he hated to admit it, his friend's tendency to use such discretion was generally much more sensible in most situations than his own audacious brashness.

Light snow started to fall around mid-afternoon, growing heavier by the hour. Borus and the others waited, as it was all they could do. Most of the villagers headed back for the cellars to take cover from the cold, but Borus and a few of his men remained out in the fields. They stood wordlessly in the soft white drift, looking in the direction of the fighting, silently praying to Sadie for the Zexens to triumph and finally put an end to their month-long misery.

The din of battle died out just before dusk, but it was impossible Borus to tell which side had emerged from it victorious. Just as he had been doing all day, he could still do nothing but wait, and this required an ever-increasing amount of effort. He was not a patient man, and so much stoicism was not something he could easily take. Another hour passed, but there were still no signs of any allies coming for them. The men beside him despondently shook their heads and started their way back to the village. If the Zexens had won, they should have been here by now.

Soon, the young lieutenant was the only one left standing in the fields under the darkening gray skies. He desperately stared out west, ignoring the layer of snow that had drifted down upon his head and shoulders. A fierce waft of freezing wind blew some of the wet white powder from his blond hair and cut into his exposed cheeks, which were already pink and raw.

A middle-aged woman, coming from the village, approached him, making lonely tracks in the unbroken snow that had freshly blanketed the ground. Borus didn't notice her presence until she was beside him. She had brought for him a winter bearskin coat that had belonged to her now-dead husband, as well as a small loaf of stale bread from the tiny stockpile of food remaining in the village. He accepted her offerings and quietly thanked her.

She reached up to brush some of the snow off his shoulders before he put the coat on over his jacket. "Please come back to the village, my lord. You'll catch pneumonia out here if you stay any longer." She avoided the eyes of the high-born man, as all peasants had been taught to do.

"I…" Borus trailed off. After all he had put this woman through, he didn't deserve the least bit of her kindness. Rescue had been so close, so _fucking _close. But now it was gone, and their last hopes had died along with it. He was going to have to surrender himself and his men and probably leave her and the rest of the villagers to be massacred by the lizards. He felt like cursing out his lungs right there and then, to vent his frustration to the winter wind. But he restrained himself. After all, what kind of a knight would he be if he swore in front of a woman?

The woman gently touched his sleeve. "Come on," she said softly to him.

Borus nodded. He took one step towards the village, and then stopped. "I'm sorry."

The woman looked at him. "Sorry for what, my lord?"

"For all this." He nodded towards the village.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about, my lord. It's our duty as well as yours to die for Zexen."  
"No!" Borus snapped back. "Dying like this should be left to us soldiers! We chose to die for Zexen when we became knights, but you didn't! I was the one who forced this upon all of you!"

The woman looked down at the ground. "War doesn't discriminate between the lives of soldiers and civilians. You did what you had to do as a knight, my lord, and I, for one, am not going to blame you for it."

Borus shook his head to calm himself. Fuck this war. Why the fuck did we start it in the first place? Why the fuck are we still fighting it? To gain land that we don't need? To subjugate the barbarians? To show the world our military might? Yeah, well, we failed. Four years and this is all it has come to—meaningless death after meaningless death. Nothing is worth this. Nothing. Fuck this war.

He turned to the woman. "Let's go," he said briskly, and they began their walk back to the village as the evening fell.

Suddenly, the young man heard the thuds of numerous hooves treading upon the snow far in the distance. The sounds were growing closer. Well, that must be the lizards coming to follow up on their victory by finishing us off. The thought of death was entirely apathetic to him. He simply couldn't find it in himself to care anymore.

Wait a minute. Lizards didn't ride horses. Borus immediately spun around and saw what had to be the most welcome sight of his entire life. Through the falling snow in the dim twilight, he barely could make out a small detachment of several dozen armored Zexen Knights on horseback traveling towards them at a rapid trot. The woman beside him had also turned to witness the spectacle of their deliverance, here at long last, and she was just as dumbstruck as he was.

"Thank the Goddess…" It was all Borus could manage.

* * *

Even after three weeks of fighting here at Yaza, Chris was still not quite fully adjusted to battling lizards instead of Karayans. Perhaps it was the abrupt change from combating against speed and dexterity to contending with brute strength. She knew that pure physical power was not one of her fortes, but nevertheless, she had discovered weaknesses in the lizards' fighting style that allowed her to offset her own limitations. For example, while grides boasted the advantage of having long ranges, they were, at the same time, heavy and cumbersome, even for the Lizard Clan. Their swipes were not terribly quick and were therefore easy to avoid. Also, their wielders were generally slow to recover after a swing, thus allowing her an opening for a counterattack.

All in all, Chris could definitely manage the lizards, even if they weren't what she was used to. After all, upon the merciless battlefields, where she currently was, the term "adapt or die" usually took on quite the significant meaning.

As she dodged and countered another blow from a lizard enemy from atop her massive warhorse, she studied his movements, predicting his next move and planning hers. While concentrating hard on fighting her present opponent, she also kept her senses open to what was going on around her. Galahad's words from long ago had ingrained themselves into her mind: you've got to keep eyes on both sides of your head if you want to survive in battle.

On the surrounding battlefield, men and lizards fought steel for steel and blood for blood in the gray dusk, with light snow falling all around them. The Zexen troops were now within sight of the dark cavern entrance that led to the lizard's underground settlement of Placia. The last lizard defenders that stood before Chris's final destination were being slowly overwhelmed by the knights.

Chris and Pelize were leading led three companies at the forefront of the offensive, and junior lieutenant Myriam Wegner was left in charge of the single company guarding the Zexen rear.

Suddenly, Chris's eyes fell upon one particular lizard fighter amidst the pandemonium of the battleground. She immediately recognized him from his characteristic light green scales and specially decorated gride that signified rank. It was Yelsa, one of the three top commanders of the lizard army right under Zepon. Just like the deadly, seasoned warrior that he was reputed to be, he was effortlessly striking down knights like they were but mere broken sticks.

Remembering her training, the young lieutenant quickly started to maneuver her bay stallion towards Yelsa. Defeating your enemy's officers should always be your top priority in a battle. The higher their rank, the higher their precedence. If they fall, it won't take long before their men follow.

She was rapidly spotted by about half a dozen lizard fighters, who rushed her all at once in order to protect their commander. As she positioned herself to counter them, she caught sight of her vice-captain out of the corner of her eye. Pelize, suddenly appearing from amidst of the battling hordes, was charging his chestnut steed towards Yelsa as he whirled his sword high in the air and let out a daunting war cry.

Her reaction at first was relief. She had lost sight of Pelize over twenty minutes ago, and now at least she knew that he was unhurt. I'll leave Yelsa to him and just concentrate on taking care of these lizards here, she thought.

The next few moments happened so fast that Chris could barely grasp the situation until it was over. Even as the lizard fighters kept her busy, she repeatedly flashed glimpses over at Pelize and Yelsa and managed to piece together the entire scene.

As Pelize stormed towards Yelsa, he slashed his sword, aiming at the lizard commander's neck but cutting only empty air as Yelsa dodged. As he charged past, Yelsa, with lightening swiftness, turned a 360 and, with the tremendous momentum he built up in his gride during the spin, flung his weapon's blade at Pelize's back, piercing deep into his metal armor. Dark red blood gushed forth from the massive incision where the spearhead of Yelsa's gride was embedded into the back of Pelize's armor. The Zexen Knight vice-captain cried out in pain as he fell from his horse, which didn't stop as it lost its rider and continued to charge forth into the fray.

"Goddess, no!" Chris frantically shouted as Pelize hit the ground. Yelsa pulled his gride free from Pelize's back as he lied facedown on the red, muddy snow where he fell. She watched as Yelsa, a dark silhouette against the fading gray skyline, raised his weapon high in the air with both claws, letting out a booming battle cry as he forcefully plunged it again, tip-first, straight into Pelize's back. Pelize's screams were cut short, and his twitching soon stopped.

As utterly bewildered as Chris was, she couldn't allow herself to divert her focus away from the lizards she was presently fighting, lest she end up with Pelize's fate. But the anger at just witnessing her vice-captain's death was rushing to her head like a mighty river current. She felt anger at herself for being a passive bystander, anger at the lizard fighters for preventing her from saving him, anger at Yelsa for cutting short his life and making her feel so helpless.

Despite all she had been taught about keeping her emotions out of battle, Chris suddenly lost control of herself. With a battle cry filled with all her wrath and fury, she leapt off her horse and dispatched all the remaining lizard fighters around herself with a few vicious, expert swipes of her sword.

Yelsa had already disappeared into the warring masses. Dashing past the bloody, lifeless body of Pelize, the young woman tore into the chaotic battlefield after her enemy on foot. She had only one thing on her mind and, like an rampant avalanche, she was unstoppable in her advance, She wasted no time as she cut down any lizard that stood in her path as she searched for Yelsa, her boots splashing through the blood-soaked slush on the plains.

Finally, she caught sight once again of the great lizard commander, battling his way through entire squad of advancing Zexen Knights. By the time she fought her way over to him, not a single man of the squad was still standing. She now stood face to face with Yelsa, their battle-frenzied eyes locked together. They were two opposing warriors who shared an unspoken understanding that only one of them will come out of their coming duel alive.

She struck the first blow, which Yelsa promptly parried, locking their blades together. "So you must be the she-devil the Karayans spoke of," Yelsa hissed in Zexen tongue. "It is an honor to be fighting you face to face." He spoke with a distinctive calmness, even here in the heat of battle.

"What do you barbarians know of honor!" Chris snapped back in her rage as she withdrew her sword from the lock and swung it again at Yelsa. Again, he parried it, this time striking his great spear against her steel so hard that she stumbled backwards and landed sitting down.

"You invade our home, defile our land, and murder our people." Yelsa attacked this time, bringing his heavy bloodstained weapon down at her in a fierce swipe. Chris dodged, quickly vaulted back on her feet, and countered. Yelsa blocked her blow with the wooden shaft of his gride. "Yet you call _us_ 'barbarians' and accuse _us_ of understanding nothing of honor. What peculiar logic you ironheads use." His voice never lost its coolness and composure, but profound hatred and animosity plainly seeped through it like deadly poison.

"Shut up!" It was hardly an adequate comeback, but even if Chris wasn't in her current fuming mindset, there would be nothing she could think of that could possibly counter Yelsa's painfully rational words.

As the evening descended and the sky darkened, their duel continued on in silence, save for their grunts and the clashing of metal against metal. The two leaders fought in their own private battle, ignoring the larger confrontation that was going on around them. Few rules in war ever went unbroken, but the most revered code of honor dictated that an acknowledged duel to the death between two commanders must not be interfered with.

Yelsa was undoubtedly one of the most challenging opponents that Chris had ever faced in live battle. No matter how she attacked, he could always block and counter. He was faster and stronger than most lizards, and his movements were hard to predict. It wasn't long before Chris was entirely worn out. Each swing of her sword took more and more effort. Breathing heavily, she observed that if Yelsa was even the slightest bit tired, he did not show it in the least. This was not looking good.

Yelsa hurled his gride again at Chris. She tried to parry, but by now, her arms were weak with exhaustion. As the lizard commander's blade slammed against hers, she lost her grip of her sword's hilt. Her weapon was sent flying by the powerful impact exerted upon it by the giant spear, landing a dozen feet away.

Chris immediately dodged another blow from Yelsa and started to sprint towards her sword. But in her haste, her iron boots slid upon the slippery slush underneath them. She lost her footing and tripped facedown onto the snow. This was the end, she knew. She lifted her dirtied face off the wet ground and spat out the sickening mixture of blood, mud, and snow that had found its way into her mouth during the fall. In a final desperate attempt to save herself, she drew her boot knife out from her left leg greave and tucked it beneath her body to hide it.

Yelsa walked calmly over to her and stood over her head. He grunted. "How nicely this works out. It looks like you shall die just like your commander." He raised his gride over his head, preparing to stab it into the young woman's back.

At this moment, Chris swiftly pulled out her boot knife from under herself and thrust its entire six-inch blade into Yelsa's massive bare left foot claw. Yelsa let out a roar of pain, his jaw opening wide in a fearsome display of his long sharp teeth. He dropped his gride in shock and grasped his bleeding foot claw, trying to pull the knife out.

Immediately, the young lieutenant rose to her feet and grabbed the Yelsa's gride off the ground. It was heavier than any weapon she had ever handled before, and it took every last ounce of her remaining strength the hold it steady. With both arms, she brought the blade of the giant spear level to her chest. With all the might she could muster, she rushed the staggering lizard commander with his own weapon, running its razor sharp point into his side and piercing through his tough scaly hide.

Bellowing, Yelsa dropped to the ground. Clenching her teeth, Chris continued to push the spearhead deeper into his side. Finally, when her energy had all but run out, she let go of the wooden shaft and stepped back, panting heavily with her arms hanging at her sides. Her hair had come undone during the scuffle, and a single sweat-soaked silver strand fell in front of her mud-covered face.

She watched as Yelsa, with his gride jammed into his side, wheezed his last breaths and coughed up blood. With great effort, he turned his long reptilian head towards her. His dying eyes shone with the same intensity as they did in battle. "You were…a worthy opponent," he gasped. His voice, though calm as ever, was barely a raspy whisper. "But do not think…that you have won… As long as…the spirits…are with us…we will fight on… We will…defend…our homeland…from you ironheads…you invaders… We will…" Yelsa trailed off. He coughed one last time and a spurt of blood streamed from his mouth. Then, his movement stopped and his yellow eyes glazed over as they rolled up.

Chris had no time to deliberate over her defeat of the lizard commander. She stumbled over to her sword and picked it up. As her mind cleared of its anger, she looked around the battlefield, becoming aware of the developments around her for the first time since Pelize died. All around her, the lizard defenses were failing. Lizard retreat signals were being repeatedly blown. The remaining enemy were either withdrawing or being slaughtered by her knights.

Too exhausted to fight any longer, Chris found her horse and spent the remainder of the fading battle assessing the situation and giving orders to her men. She sent messengers to travel back to the field headquarters in order to summon reinforcements. The defeated lizards warriors were retreating to Placia, a large cavern carved into the foothills straight ahead. Chris knew that the settlement was still far from captured. She was familiar enough with the lizards to know that they would still put up a ferocious fight within those dark caverns halls when the Zexens do enter. There, they would have a devastating homefield advantage, even if they were overwhelmingly outnumbered. Her men would not be able to take the settlement without rest and reinforcements first. Placia would have to wait.

Soon, the battlefield completely settled into an uneasy silence. The snow stopped. The heavy gray clouds overhead parted to reveal the inky black night sky sprinkled with the flickering lights of countless stars. Tents were erected for the night, and the young commander found herself in the command tent, planning and discussing her next course of action with her junior lieutenants.

A messenger from Galahad came in briefly to inform her that Haysmorth had been liberated. The village had been burnt to the ground by the lizards, but Senior Lieutenant Borus Redrum was alive, along with eighteen other knights and twenty-seven villagers. The survivors were being taken to the village of Clearwater thirty miles to the west of Haysmorth to recover.

After Chris sent another messenger back to her captain with the state of her troops' current situation, as well as the news of Pelize's death, she went to her own private tent and walked inside. She took off her armor and tied her hair back into a loose ponytail. Then she sat down on a stool beside her bedroll, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Her eyes were vacantly fixed on the deerskin rug spread over the ground as she brooded over the events of the battle.

She had sent a diplomatic convey to deliver Yelsa's body back to the Lizard Clan. It was the honorable thing to do, although Yelsa's words spoken to her during their duel that evening had shaken her previously rigid sense of honor. He did have a point… No. She shook her head. It was best not to think about that. She could not afford to have her values distorted at a time like this.

When her mind turned to Pelize's death, her heart grew heavy. As their price for their triumph, the Zexen Knights had lost an able leader and skilled soldier. Chris knew that, to be rational, it wasn't her fault. Pelize had fought against Yelsa, was defeated, and thus lost his life to him, just like Yelsa had to her. But nevertheless, the feeling of helplessness as she watched him die troubled her, and her uncontainable anger afterwards troubled her even more. How could she be an effective senior lieutenant if she couldn't even control her emotions? Maybe she just wasn't cut out for this job. At least now she knew that Borus was alive and would soon take his position back.

Victory on the battlefield that day had been hers, but as far as Chris was concerned, there was hardly much to celebrate for.

* * *

End Note: My deepest gratitude goes to everyone who reviewed. Now about the Roland thing—I'm just trying to make it realistic, and besides, this story is about Chris proving her worth and it won't be very good if everyone accepts her with open arms right from the start. I think this chapter has a little too many battle scenes to the point where it's kinda boring (not to mention hard to write), so I'll try to balance it better in the future. Anyway, I plan to add more Grassland perspectives of the war in the next chapter, so the story won't be so one-sided. In particular, from Bazba, since he has such a cool character design. Leave a review if you like it. Or don't like it. Just give me some feedback. School keeps me pretty busy, so don't expect any quick updates. 


	4. Chapter 4

The messenger from the Yaza Plains arrived at Brass Castle around midnight. Percival, bored, restless, and unable to sleep, had been passing time in the soldiers' barracks, playing darts with some off-duty guards. Suddenly, the creaky wooden doors to the barracks flung open, and in walked Salome, disrupting the men's revelries.

"Percival," he called, motioning the young lieutenant to follow him. He led Percival out of the barracks and into a deserted stairway corridor of the great fortress. The gloomy, dead silent room was lit only by the flickering flames of a few torches set upon the stone walls. The torchlight cast dark, eerie, swaying shadows of the two lone men onto the cold floor.

Percival noticed that the strategist had a look on his face that was even more solemn than usual, and it greatly worried him. "What is it, Salome? Is there news from the front?" His voice echoed resonantly against the walls of the hollow chamber.

Salome nodded. "Galahad has—"

"Wait. Give me a warning first. Is this good news or bad news?"

"Both. Which would you like first?"

Percival quietly sighed and brought his eyes down to the ground, apprehensive. "That depends on what the bad news is," he said calmly.

Salome gave an extended pause, carefully regarding the dark-haired lieutenant. "Pelize is dead," he finally said.

"Oh, Goddess… How?" That information certainly came as a shock, but Percival did his best to hide the guilty relief from his voice. If that was the bad news, then the good news could only be…

"He was killed by Yelsa, one of the top lizard commanders, who was himself killed by Lieutenant Chris."

"Oh... Man, I…I really don't know what to say…" Just give me the good news already, Percival anxiously thought. It wasn't that he did not care about the death of his vice-captain; it was just that other issues were more relevant to him right now.

Salome must have read the look in Percival's eyes. "The rest of the offensive went well enough. Chris's forces are right outside of Placia, and the liberation of Haysmorth was successful as well. We've recaptured and secured the region."

"I see. Were there any survivors from the village?"

"Yes. Nineteen knights, twenty-seven villagers." The older blond man paused. "It looks like you were right. Borus is among them."

Percival turned his head to the side, trying his very best to remain somber and expressionless, despite feeling the complete opposite. "I told you," he mumbled.

"And also, Percival, Galahad is summoning you to go to Clearwater village, where his troops and the Haysmorth survivors are currently stationed. Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah, of course. It's just to the northeast of Iksay. A good horse can take you over in less than twenty minutes. I used to ride up there every once in a while when I was a kid to pick up supplies for my father's shop."

"Good. Then get ready to head up as soon as you can. Chris is preparing to take Placia early in the morning. Galahad wants you to lead a couple of your companies to support her."

A chance to finally see some action _and _to meet up with Borus again. Percival couldn't be more eager. "Sure thing, Salome. I'll get ready to go right away." He quickly headed off to his room, put on his armor, packed some light provisions, and woke up Leo to say a quick goodbye. After a few more words from Salome, he went to the stables found his horse waiting for him. He saddled it and hastily set off alone into the night. Salome had urged him to bring some escorts, but Percival refused, insisting that they would only slow him down.

Percival's steed Svetlana was a sleek, jet-black mare, nowhere as big or hefty as the massive knight chargers, but much lighter on foot. Percival had grown up around horses and knew more about them than even the best of stable hands. He had always preferred the fast ones, although horses built for solely speed tended to lack to nerve and composure required to brave the turmoil in the middle of a raging battlefield.

Svetlana was no different in that regard. But while it wasn't the mount that Percival rode into battle on, it was his very favorite horse. He had received it two and a half years ago from one of his neighbors back in Iksay as a gift to congratulate him on his promotion to the rank of senior lieutenant. He had known many fine horses in his past twenty-five years, but none combined speed, endurance, and disposition nearly as well as this tall black mare. It could swiftly gallop for numerous miles without tiring and carry him from place to place with astonishing speed. And it would do so ever willingly, no matter how hard he pushed it. He used it as his traveling mount, while his actual Caleria-imported combat charger awaited him at his field camp on the Yaza Plains.

Svetlana ripped along the snow-covered roads and plains, and Percival arrived at Clearwater in less than three hours. In record time, too, he thought proudly to himself. It usually took him at least three hours just to go between Brass Castle and Iksay, which was a remarkable pace in and of itself. Of course, on this particular trip, he had driven his mare more harshly than was probably good for its health. Its breaths were labored and its entire body was soaked in sweat by the time Percival reached the village inn stables where the stationed knight officers temporarily kept their horses.

"Sorry about that, darling," he spoke quietly to Svetlana as he dismounted. "But believe me, I have a good reason to be in a hurry." He handed its reins over to a young groom. He usually didn't trust stable hands with the care of his horses and preferred to tend to them himself, but this particular situation called his attention to other, much more urgent matters. He was led off by another knight towards Galahad's quarters in a nearby villager's residence.

The only sleep Percival had gotten in the last day was a short afternoon nap. But if he had been weary at all before, the news of Borus's rescue and his new assignment had snapped him entirely out of it. Eagerly, he followed the knight to the destination house, hoping that Galahad would hurry up with whatever he wanted to say him, so that he would have at least a little bit of time to catch up with his fellow lieutenant.

Percival smiled to himself at the thought of finally seeing his friend. The last month had not only been torturous upon his conscience, it had been stifling as well. Due to their long years of acquaintance and their proximity of age and rank, Percival had found that he could drop the formalities with Borus the way he couldn't quite do with any of the other knights. He sorely missed having someone to drink with, to spar with, to talk with about matters other than official business such as war or politics. Not to mention that the blond knight was vastly entertaining to joke around with, simply because it was so easy to get an amusing reaction out of him.

The knight took him to the two-storied house where Galahad was staying. "The captain awaits you inside, my lord," he said as he held open the door for Percival. Percival nodded, thanked him, and stepped inside the house. Without entering himself, the knight closed the door behind him, shutting out the cold winter air.

Percival instantly liked the house. The small, cozy living room warmed by a bright hearth fire reminded him of his own home, down-to-earth and without any of the extravagances that he had grown used to since he became a knight. The aroma of homemade cider drifting in from the kitchen reminded him of his simple roots and suddenly made him quite homesick. Man, when was the last time I visited Iksay? he asked himself nostalgically, recalling that he had been too busy with his military undertakings to join his family this past Yuletide.

The host of the house, a middle-aged farmer, respectfully greeted the lieutenant and led him into the kitchen, where the host's wife stood beside the stove, heating a pot of cider. Galahad sat at the small wooden dining table with Roland, sipping warm cider and studying a large map that was entirely covered with markings of troop positions and movements. They turned as Percival entered.

"Lord Galahad. Lord Roland," Percival said, nodding to each of them. "Good morning. Or whatever you're supposed to call it when it's three a.m."

"Glad to see you've made it here so swiftly, Percival," Galahad replied. "Sit down," he motioned towards an empty chair at the table.

Percival quickly seated himself. The hostess placed a mug in front of the young man and poured him some cider. Then she and her husband stepped out into the living room, closing the kitchen door to give the three officers some privacy.

"Salome has told you everything, I assume?" Galahad asked.

Percival wrapped his hands, numb with cold, against the warm cider mug and finally felt the blood flowing through them again. "Everything but the details, my lord" he responded after taking a sip. "But I suppose that's what I'm here for."

"So you know about Lord Pelize?"

"Yes, my lord. I was deeply saddened. He was a great man on and off the battlefield, and the Knighthood will sorely miss his leadership." The three men gave a respectful moment of silence. Percival played around with the idea of asking Galahad the question of who might be chosen to succeed Pelize as vice-captain, but ultimately decided against it. It would seem indecorous and perhaps even inappropriately ambitious of him.

Galahad continued, moving onto the next subject. "Yesterday, Chris' troops had pushed the front before the Great Hollow twenty-five miles to the east, ending up right at the entrance to Placia." He ran his finger along an arrow on the map that led to the coordinates of the foothills that Placia lied under. "Around 120-150 lizard troops have withdrawn into Placia. We can make the safe assumption that they've embedded themselves defensively within the cavern and are ready to fight to the last soldier against any offensive attempt to occupy the settlement."

"Cave warfare," Percival muttered, fully aware of the difficulties ahead. "Well, that's never any fun. Has the Great Hollow sent reinforcements?"

"Not as of yet, but we cannot assume that they won't," Roland answered.

"Of course, the lizards suffered very heavy losses from their defeats yesterday," Galahad added. "I highly doubt that they'll be organized enough by morning to sent more troops to aid the ones already at Placia. But we must take precaution." He paused as he gulped down the all the remaining cider in his mug and gave a hefty sigh of content.

"Anyway, Percival" Galahad continued. "I want you to lead two companies to support Chris. She already has two hundred knights and one hundred infantrymen gathered at the mouth of Placia, ready to attack before daybreak. I want at least one of your companies to stand guard at the entrance and watch for enemy reinforcements while her troops enter the cave to attack. I already sent two of your junior lieutenants, Lanchet Simons and Winston Markoff, down to the Yaza camp headquarters and told them to prepare two fresh companies to go when you arrive. You can take a short break here now. Then I suggest you head out there as soon as you can."

"Yes, my lord." He paused. "So I heard from Salome that the Haysmorth survivors were rescued."

Galahad nodded. "There weren't many, but we brought those who were still alive here to Clearwater. Borus is here as well, as I'm sure you've heard."

"How is he? May I see him?"

"He's sleeping upstairs in this very house," Galahad stated. "He has no serious injuries, but he's understandably exhausted and malnourished. I sorry, Percival, but I think it's best that you not disturb his rest."

As disappointed as he was, Percival obediently nodded. "I understand, my lord. As long as he's all right, I suppose there's no need for me to concern myself." He took a great swig from his mug to finish off his cider and stood up from his chair. "Well, now. Are any of the taverns still open? I think I'll grab some food before I head off." Roland responded to his statement by closing his eyes and silently shaking his head.

"Percival…" Galahad began.

"Hey, I said food, not drink," Percival defended himself with a laugh. "It's nice to see that my lords think _so_ highly of my reliability." He walked to the kitchen door and opened it. "Come on," he said, shoving a hand through his sleek dark hair. "I'm not _that_ irresponsible. I'll catch up with the two of you one last time right before I leave."

Stepping out into the living room, he politely thanked the farmer and his wife, who were sitting on a couch, for their hospitality. Just as he reached for the front door, he heard some footsteps at the top of the stairs behind him, and then a voice. It was a weary and drained voice, but one that he would recognize anywhere, even though he hadn't heard it for a month.

"Percival?"

Percival grinned as he slowly turned to face the speaker. "Hmph. Never expected to see _you_ alive again." his cool tone of voice and expression were betrayed by the excited glint in his eyes.

Borus certainly looked different from what Percival had remembered. It was obvious that he had just gotten up from bed. He wore some ill-fitted homespun garments that Percival guessed had belonged to the farmer. His blond hair was wild and ruffled, and his eyes looked badly fatigued, although Percival couldn't tell if the weariness came from still being half asleep or from having just spent the last month in a wintry hell. He had lost at least thirty pounds, and he had obviously not had the chance to shave since he was rescued, as unkempt facial hair covered his lower cheeks and chin. Percival couldn't remember the last time that he had seen Borus unshaven, other than a brief phase during Borus's teenage years when the blond squire had thought that leaving a bit of a stubble was attractive and manly.

Borus managed a weak smile and raised an eyebrow at his friend as he started down the stairs. "I thought I heard you down here, you heartless bastard. Was _that_ supposed to be the warm reception I expected from my brother knight?"

As soon as Borus reached the bottom of the stairs, Percival vaulted over and seized the blond knight in a forceful hug, forgetting both that he was wearing hard metal armor and that Borus wasn't in the best of physical conditions. Borus didn't seem to mind. He patted Percival's back, both of them laughing cheerfully.

Hearing the racket, Galahad stepped out from the kitchen just as his two lieutenants backed off from their enthusiastic greeting. Percival glanced through the open door to see Roland continuing to pour over the map without once looking up, completely ignoring the noises and antics of the two young men.

"So you're up, eh, Borus?" Galahad said, eyeing the blond knight.

"How can I not be?" Borus responded, laughter still ringing in his voice.

"Hey, I was just heading out to the tavern," Percival exclaimed his friend. "Come with me."

"Uh…" Borus hesitated.

"Don't worry, man. It's too dark and early for anyone to notice that you look like a piece of shi—" Percival was barely able to stop himself after he noticed that the farmer's wife was still sitting in the room. Embarrassed, he smiled sheepishly at her.

"Good job," Borus muttered, grinning widely. "All right, I'll go. Just—"

"Percival, wait," Galahad interrupted.

"Yes, I know, my lord. I'll watch Lord Borus's liquor intake. Wouldn't want him overindulge himself after a month of depravation and die of alcohol poisoning so soon after we get him back, now would we?"

"And don't loose track of time," Galahad firmly reminded. "It's a quarter past three right now. I want you heading off towards the camps by quarter to four, at the latest. I've already said all I wanted to say to you, so don't bother coming to find me again. Just go." He turned attention over to Borus. "Can I trust you to report to me after Percival leaves?"

"Of course, my lord," Borus dutifully replied.

"Then have fun, you two." Galahad went back into the kitchen and closed the door after him. The farmer and his wife both got up to offer their further services to the knights. The woman followed Galahad into the kitchen to pour them more cider, and the man found Borus a heavy coat to put on. The two young lieutenants then headed out towards the pub.

Neither spoke a word to the other on the way, each saving his energy for braving the bitter cold of the winter night. When they reached the tavern, they found it still bright and bustling, even at this odd hour. All of the customers were stationed knights, many of them heavily drunk, rowdy, and destructive. It was clear from the bartender's repeated sighs, eye rolls, and headshakes that he was less than pleased to have these men here. But of course, he had no choice. The Council had decreed that as long as the war with Grassland lasts, any village or town in which the Zexen army chooses to base troops must yield its services to the soldiers.

The two young men sat down on stools at a quiet corner of the bar. Percival ordered a glass of milk and a plate of ribs for himself, as well as a bottle of the most expensive wine in the house for Borus, insisting that it was his treat. The bartender swiftly brought them their drinks, but Percival would have to wait for his dish to be cooked.

"Been a while since we last had a drink together, huh?" Borus commented as he poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Borus. This is _milk_," Percival replied with a laugh. "If and when I get back from the next battle, then we'll go have some _real_ fun."

"If by 'fun' you mean getting drunk off our asses, then that sounds good," Borus chuckled, taking a careful sip of his wine.

"Why, _no_, Sir Stater-of-the-Obvious. I meant having a tea party, of course. Hell, we'll even invite Chris Lightfellow."

"Chris Lightfellow…" Borus mused, ignoring Percival's sarcasm. "Isn't that who's currently leading my regiment right now? Who the hell is she, anyway?"

"Come on, man. How can you not remember her? It's _the _Chris Lightfellow. Galahad's former squire, and the only woman in the Knighthood. We even used to know her when we were squires, although not very well, I'm afraid."

Borus raised his head and closed his eyes as he tried to conjure up the name from his memory. "Oh, right!" he finally remembered. "_Her_. Silver hair?"

"Yeah, and one hell of a good fighter too, or so I've heard. Never seen her in action myself, but I guess I will in just a few hours."

"But still… Galahad got a _woman_ to replace me? Goddess, that's so damn insulting!"

Percival frowned and stared contemplatively at his glass of milk as he grew serious. "Look, I know everyone assumes she only got promoted 'cause she's sleeping with Galahad. I mean, before I met her, I thought the same thing. But, well, when I actually did meet her and talk to her, it felt… I don't know… Just the way she carried herself, it felt like she's more than just the captain's little pet. Like she might have actually earned her position on the battlefield rather than in his bed."

Borus rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break."

"Well, whatever the case, Borus, she's still your rescuer. She thought up the whole strategy for our offensive, you know. It was only because of the distraction of her strike towards Placia that Galahad was able to break you out of Haysmorth."  
"Yeah, I know. Galahad told me." He paused. "But they are still gonna reinstate me as senior lieutenant, right? I mean, she can't just take over my position permanently, can she?"

"Depends on how much Galahad likes her," Percival replied with a casual shrug.

Borus stroked the blond stubble on his chin. "Yeah, I _bet_ Galahad likes her. Filthy whore," he grumbled resentfully.

Percival raised an eyebrow. "Hey, now. That was a bit uncalled for. She _did _save you and all those other survivors at Haysmorth, after all. You owe her pretty big for _that_ much." He suddenly smirked and shot Borus a sidelong glance. "And besides, I believe that you were quite fixated with her back when we were squires."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything!" Borus's sudden temper change caused him slam down his liquor glass with a force barely short of shattering it.

As amusing as Percival usually found Borus's fits of irritability, he decided that this probably wasn't a good time to instigate one. "Okay, okay, man. Chill out. I personally think that you should reserve your judgment of her until you meet her. But if you really don't want to like her, fine. Whatever." Percival then lightheartedly grinned and said in a smug voice, "She's a very attractive lady these days, and I can always do without the competition. Not that you're much competition when it comes to such matters, of course."

"Cocky asshole," Borus snarled back. Elsewhere in the tavern, a couple of tables were overturned as a drunken brawl broke out, to which the two lieutenants, located in the corner away from the action, paid entirely no heed.

By now, Percival's side of lamb ribs was done. The bartender served it to him, and then quickly left, recognizing the two high-ranked knight officers and not wanting to disturb their private discussion. Percival took off his gauntlets and hungrily tore off a large chunk of the tough meat with his teeth. He decided that the break in their conversation while he was eating would be a good pretext for changing the subject.

He now dropped all facetiousness and took on a grave, somber tone. "So, did Galahad tell you about how you got stuck up in Haysmorth in the first place?"

Borus nodded. "Yeah. He did."

"I'm sorry, Borus. I went down some lizard hole, got lost, and missed the attack signal. It was all my fault. I should've known better. I mean—"

"Yeah, well, don't blame yourself," Borus interrupted. "Shit happens. You couldn't foresee the consequences. It was unintentional."

"Just because I didn't _intend_ to kill all those villagers and knights doesn't mean that I'm not responsible."

"Look, Percival. I knew _perfectly fucking well_ what would happen to everyone around me in Haysmorth when I decided to I shove my head up my ass and not surrender." He sighed and shook his head, turning away from his friend. "You might be partially responsible for trapping us in that hellhole, but I was the one responsible for the deaths of eighty-six knights and over a hundred villagers. It's not the same. _I_ killed them, not you."

Borus sighed and continued, his voiced filled with guilt and remorse. "Galahad spoke with me earlier about branding me as a Zexen hero, because I stood up to the lizards. A _fucking hero_, can you believe that? And for what? My conceit? My failure as a military commander? My complete disregard for innocent lives?" He paused. "You know what? Let Chris Lightfellow keep my position. I don't deserve it. I don't even deserve to be alive right now when so many others aren't because of me."

"Borus…" Percival didn't have the slightest idea of how to respond to Borus's speech. Looking down at his half-eaten food, he realized that he had by now lost all of his appetite. An extended moment of stillness passed before either man spoke again.

"Percival," Borus suddenly broke the silence. His amber eyes looked distant, and his voice sounded detached. "What are we doing? This war is so…" He trailed off.

"Pointless? Prolonged? Ill-advised?" Percival finished. "I wholly agree."

"Then why are we…?"

"Because this happens to be the course of action that the Council has chosen to take, and we as knights have sworn our oath to the Council," Percival recited.

Borus suddenly looked up at him with fire in his eyes. "I don't know about you, Percival, but I swore _my _oath to the Goddess and Zexen, not those greedy bastards."

"And the Council is supposedly the representative embodiment of Zexen, carrying out the will of the Goddess. See how that works, now?"

"_Fuck you_, Fraulein."

"Listen, Borus. I don't like how this war is going any more than you do, but we still have our duty. We knew when we became knighted that we're now obliged to serve a higher authority, not run around doing whatever we personally feel is right."

Borus didn't reply and simply gazed back down at his half-empty wine glass. Unusually enough, he had not had much to drink at all from the expensive vintage. Percival looked up at the clock ticking upon the wall over the bar and realized that it was already three-forty. "I have to go now," he said as he gulped down the last of his milk and put his gauntlets back on. "Tell Galahad that I've left when you get back, all right?" He patted Borus's shoulder as he stood up.

"This war needs to end soon," Borus suddenly stated without turning his head. "I'm sick of fighting. I'm sick of all this senseless bloodshed."

Percival pensively regarded Borus, suddenly taking in just how much his friend had changed over the past month. "I think we all are." He paused, and then said briskly, "Take care, Borus." Without waiting for Borus's non-existent response, he turned and walked across the noisy tavern and out the front door, leaving behind both his unfinished plate of ribs and the troubled, brooding young blond knight.

* * *

Bazba had expected neither the bad news nor the promotion, and he certainly did not want the latter after receiving the former. He paced alone, angry and depressed, inside the commander's chamber within the Great Hollow to which he had been newly assigned. The cavern grotto, sparsely furnished but nevertheless possessing an air of dignity, had previously belonged to the now-deceased Yelsa. 

The young lizard knew that he could never even come close to replacing Yelsa, no matter what Zepon said. Bazba had held more respect for the great commander than any other lizard, even his chief. Yelsa was not just a strong, courageous warrior and a wise, strategic military leader. No, Yelsa was far more than that. He possessed skills that few other lizards possessed, skills that denoted greatness, skills that had put him next in line for the title of chief. Yelsa was a negotiator.

Bazba had looked up to Yelsa ever since he was a hatchling. He admired the commander's intelligence with words, his ability to peacefully resolve conflicts before they resorted to violence, his capacity to clearly think with reason and good sense even under the most heated of conditions. He marveled at Yelsa's way of taming both friend and foe through discussion just as much as he marveled at his deadly adeptness with a gride. In both battles fought with words and with steel, Yelsa had never once forsaken his honor. As Bazba recalled, his own desire to live up to the image the great commander was the very reason that he chose the life of a warrior in the first place.

And now, Yelsa was gone, slain by the hands of that vicious silver-haired she-devil that the Karayans had warned the Lizard Clan about. Bazba had heard the news last evening, when he, along with the rest of Dupa's troops, had withdrawn back to the Great Hollow. The attacking Zexens had smashed their unprepared and outnumbered defenses, finally breaking their siege on Haysmorth village. Already miserable and demoralized, the defeated warriors were then told that not only had the southern prong of the Zexen offensive now reached the gates of Placia, but also that Yelsa had fallen.

To say that Dupa had been furious would be a great understatement. After all, he and Yelsa had grown up together side by side. The hot-tempered lizard commander had immediately clutched his gride with both claws in a violent battle stance. "Where is she!" he had roared, his eyes filled with fiery rage. "Take me to her now, and I shall avenge Yelsa's death!" Even Chief Zepon could only pacify him to the point where all he did was storm into the cavern dungeons and slaughter several Zexen prisoners-of-war in order to vent his anger.

To be honest, Bazba had felt no different from his commander. The only thing that prevented him from acting likewise was the knowledge that such a reckless deed was certainly not what Yelsa himself would have done. The knights had lost a leader as well, Bazba had heard. They must be just as angry towards us, he told himself, trying to put things in perspective. But the thought didn't console him much; he all too quickly reminded himself of the fact that the Zexens were the invaders in the first place and thus deserved no such sympathy.

With a leaden heart, Bazba had retired to the officers' barracks to get some much-needed rest. But he was interrupted shortly afterwards by one of his warriors, who told him that Chief Zepon had important business with him. He had hastily headed up to Zepon's room, where he was promptly told by his chief that for his proven and commendable performance upon the battlefield, he was chosen to serve as the Left Fighter of Unit Two of the three Bodies Fighters in the late Yelsa's place.

The dark-green scaled lizard had stepped out of the chief's chamber in complete shock. How could he possibly be chosen to lead an army when he was only twenty-four years old? For a long-lived lizard, that was barely out of adolescence. Four years ago, the need of the Lizard Clan for additional troops had forced him out of warrior training into an actual war before he was even considered an adult.

But despite his age, he had taken to the adjustment well. He had been one of the top pupils in his training class. Now, motivated by his fierce desire to defend his cherished homeland against foreign occupation, he had truly come into his own. His prodigious fighting skills devastated the Zexen forces and moved him up the ranks within Unit One of the three Bodies Fighters until he was finally made one of the top officers right below Left Fighter Dupa a year and a half ago.

Even so, the young lizard certainly didn't consider himself ready for taking on the role of the left fighter of an entire unit. Members of the Lizard Clan continued grow in size until late into their thirties, and although Bazba was regarded as first-rate warrior, he was still considerably smaller in stature than Dupa, Yelsa, or Shiba. Often among the lizards, the impressiveness of one's physical build was instrumental in determining the amount of respect that he commands. Bazba was certainly considered a very attractive male for a member of his clan. But he feared that, due to his smaller size, he lacked the physical strength that his fellow warriors frequently looked for in leadership.

Nevertheless, Bazba resolved that if he was to be given such an important responsibility, he would do it to the best of his abilities. He had already established a formidable reputation as a left fighter, and now, he would just have to take his efforts up a notch. He would try his hardest to live up to the name of Yelsa. Perhaps he would someday make the great warrior's spirit proud.

Bazba was taken by a soldier to his new room, the one that Yelsa used to reside in. He had been told by Zepon to get a good night's rest. The Lizard Clan forces had suffered a crushing defeat today, but tomorrow morning, after its warriors had time to recover and reorganize, Bazba, along with Dupa, would lead the counterattack against Zexen at Placia.

Feeling restless, Bazba paced about the large, imposing room with jumbled thoughts overflowing his mind. But soon, the young lizard began to feel the wear that the long, arduous day had inflicted upon him. He fell asleep almost immediately when he finally lied down upon the bed.

He was awakened just before dawn by a soft female voice. "Bazba. Wake up, Bazba."

As soon as the young commander stirred himself enough to recognize the voice, he bolted upright from his bed and found himself gazing into the sharp yellow eyes of his lover Zelphis. She was smiling at him and holding something behind her back. Bazba smiled back and took her in a passionate embrace. The orange scales of his cold bare chest pressed hard against her warm white and yellow hunting tunic.

"Good morning, my love," he whispered to her. "How went the hunt last night?" Ever since the war started, the females of the Lizard Clan had been given the role of hunters and providers for the warriors while the much larger males fought upon the battlefield.

Bazba let go of Zelphis, and she stepped back. "Quite well. Our squad took down two boars and a great musk deer buck. And I caught this." She brought her claws out from behind her, revealing a large white grouse that she had been holding.

The young male frowned and cocked his head slightly. "Are you not supposed to hand your kills over to the war supply administrators?"

"Oh, but I heard about your remarkable promotion when I got back from the hunt, so I snuck this in to congratulate you. You aren't going to turn me in for that, are you?" she asked playfully.

Bazba shot her a teasing grin back as he accepted her gift. "Perhaps I shall overlook it if you stay here and share the meal with me."

Zelphis sadly shook her head and looked down. "I do apologize, Bazba, but I can't. I've been call upon for grave-digging duty at six o'clock. I'll be late if I don't head over soon."

"What!" Bazba exclaimed indignantly as he stood up. "You have been out hunting all night! They cannot do this to you when you need rest! I would like to have a talk with your direct commanding officer!"

"Bazba, I'll be fine. I'm not even tired."

"No, it—"

"Look, Bazba. I just came by to give you my blessing. You are a strong, brave, and honorable warrior, and you deserve to succeed Master Yelsa. I know you have a battle today, and I know you shall fight courageously, triumph over the ironheads, and avenge Master Yelsa. The spirits shall be with you to guide and watch over you, as shall Master Yelsa. I only wish I could also fight by your side."

A moment of silence fell over the room as the young female finished her speech. Then, Bazba smiled tenderly and pulled her close. "I am always thinking of you, even amidst the fiercest of battles."

"Perhaps it would be wiser then to keep your focus upon the combat."

Bazba let out a deep, raspy chuckle. "But I miss you there. It dampens my spirits when I consider how my new promotion implies that our private moments together shall grow even shorter and scarcer. We will win this war, and when we do, I shall come home to you permanently. I swear it upon my honor."

"I know, Bazba. I await that day."

The two young lizards silently held each other for a long moment in the cold, dark cavern chamber. Zelphis then pulled away. "I must be going now." She started to leave, then stopped and turned around again. "Oh, and Bazba? Were you awake when a Zexen convoy delivered Master Yelsa's body back to the Great Hollow late last night?"

Bazba's attention sharply perked. "No. When was this?"

"Around midnight, I've heard. His funeral rites will be performed this evening. For now, his body is being displayed in the Main Hall. You should go there now to pay him your respects. I have already done so."

Bazba solemnly nodded, relieved that the hated Zexen invaders had at least the decency to provide the Lizard Clan with a chance to give Yelsa a proper burial ceremony. "Thank you for informing me, Zelphis. I shall head down as soon as I get dressed."

"Take care, Bazba."

"You too, my love. And you have my sincere appreciation for the grouse. You are an esteemed and tremendously skilled hunter, and such an offering honors me." He paused. "I love you, Zelphis."

Zelphis looked back at him one last time, bringing her eyes up to meet his. "I love you, too. And please stay alive." Then, she swept aside the deerskin door flap to the chamber and left.

As soon as she was gone, Bazba put on his white and green robe, his ornamental ankle bands, and the metal horn crest that he wore on top of his head. Setting the grouse down upon a stone table to eat later, he headed out and made his way to the crowded Main Hall. There, warriors and civilians alike have gathered to look upon Yelsa's earthly body for the last time before his ceremonial cremation and the burial of his ashes to unite his mortal remains with the earth spirits.

The other lizards gave way to allow the new commander to make his way to the corpse, laid out neatly upon a stone pedestal. Bazba stepped up and gazed upon the body of his predecessor. A great deep flesh wound ripped across his side where the Zexen she-devil had penetrated Yelsa with his own gride.

Again, Bazba felt his own anger rising, but calmed himself with the thought that Yelsa had died exactly in the way he would have wanted to die—in honorable battle, defending his homeland. Yelsa would not survive to see the end of the war, with the invaders defeated and peace restored in Grassland, but Bazba was prepared to give own life to see to it that the late commander's greatest wish was realized. The young lizard offered a prayer to the earth spirits for Yelsa as he stood over his body, informing them of his intentions.

When he was done, he returned to his room and cooked the grouse over an open fire. He realized just how hungry he was when he chomped down the entire bird with his great toothy jaws in just a few bites. Shortly afterwards, he, along with Dupa, was summoned again to Chief Zepon's chambers for a briefing on today's battle.

The meeting didn't last too long. The two commanders were informed that the Zexens had already begun their strike into the depths of Placia at half past six this morning, about an hour ago. As Bazba and Dupa were already aware, all civilians and warriors were evaluated last night through a branch of the underground highway that opened into a hidden chamber in Placia. They had arrived safely in Stratow, another Lizard Clan settlement to the southeast of Placia, sometime in the early hours of the morning.

The Zexens, consequently, had met absolutely no resistance during their offensive at daybreak, which was certainly not what they expected. That was the Lizard Clan strategy: lure the pleasantly surprised invaders into a false sense of security, then strike when their guards are down.

And Placia was still home turf. The lizards were far more accustomed to its dark, twisting tunnels and caverns than the Zexens. That familiarity, along with the lizards' naturally better vision in the dark, gives them a crushing upper hand against the Zexens, as long as they can confine the combat to within the underground hollow.

The battle plan, therefore, was simple. Bazba and Dupa were each to lead two hundred troops into the underground highway, accessing it through one of its entryways from the Great Hollow. The two commanders were then to split up, each taking his own troops down a separate route of the extensive, branching network of passageways.

Bazba was to head directly to Placia and immediately strike as soon as he arrived. Dupa was to bring his troops right to the exit of the underground network that was just to the north of Placia, nestled within the foothills and hidden from view. There, they would conceal themselves until Bazba's assault was well under way. By then, the Zexens should be tied up by Bazba's troops within Placia. Dupa would then come out of hiding and attack the Zexens from outside of the entrance to Placia, driving them into the cavern and trapping them inside. There, where the Zexens were at their greatest disadvantage, the lizards could easily annihilate them and take the settlement back.

The operation would commence in about half an hour from now, at eight o'clock. Zepon dismissed the two commanders, telling them to prepare themselves for the upcoming operation. As soon as they left the chief's chambers, Dupa, still furious over Yelsa's death, headed off to the training center without a single word to his fellow commander. Zexen blood was the only thing he craved right now, and Bazba grew concerned that his current mindset might not be the best with which to lead such an important military undertaking.

Nevertheless, the last thing Bazba wanted was to upset Dupa further. Although he idolized Yelsa more than any other lizard, Dupa was every bit worthy of his respect too. The quick-tempered commander, though not nearly as wise, articulate, or conciliatory as Yelsa, held the much-deserved reputation of being the fiercest, most courageous fighter of the Lizard Clan. For a warrior tribe, such a title was certainly an esteemed, sought-after honor. His valor and fighting skills were exemplary for all Lizard Clan warriors, including Bazba.

Deciding to leave Dupa alone, Bazba started his way towards the main entrance of the Great Hollow, to the outside world. The impending operation would take place entirely underground for him, and he knew that, despite what he promised Zelphis, he might not come out of it alive. Just in case he didn't, he felt the need to breathe fresh air and see the morning sunlight one last time.

He slowly walked through the grand entry hallway. Tall, imposing stone pillars stood guard on either side of the passage, towering up towards the high cavern ceiling. Carved into them were depictions of Grassland warriors told of in countless legends: the Flame Champion, members of the Fire Bringer, and many others. Master Yelsa most certainly deserves his place among such heroes, Bazba thought to himself as he passed by. When this war ends, we shall surely carve his likeness into the pillars alongside these champions of yore.

Bazba braced himself as he exited the Great Hollow into the cold winter morning. Not yet adjusted to the brightness of the sunlight, he squinted his eyes as he stepped out of the shadows. Despite the chilly air, the bright rays of the sun warmed his dark green scales.

The main entrance of the Great Hollow was situated within the heart of the rocky foothills that cut across the grassy plains. Between the stone cliffs before the cavern ran a narrow, twisting path that led to the lowlands. Bazba started his way down the path. He passed dozens of guards on watch, who all respectfully saluted their new commander. Soon, he reached the end of the path, and the boundless Grasslands spread out before him as far as the eye could see. Leaving behind broad footclaw prints in the unbroken snow, Bazba walked past the scouts and guards stationed nearby. He wandered off some ways until he was alone, surrounded only by the stillness of the peaceful sunrise.

Bazba silently stared out over the vast, empty plains, blanketed in white from yesterday's snowfall. He remembered his youth, hunting and playing out in the endless oceans of grass. He recalled how he used perceive his beloved home: breathtakingly beautiful, blessed by the spirits, nurturing all life that dwelled upon it with its abundance. His mind turned to the present, and he bitterly reflected upon how much he hated the Zexen invaders for perverting that untainted vision of splendor and majesty.

From the very day he fought his first battle four years ago, he knew that he could never again view the Grasslands with the same youthful innocence. Even as he now gazed upon the tranquil, pristine snowfields that lay before him, bathed in the rosy light of dawn, all he could see were bloodstained plains made fertile by the decomposed remains of his fallen comrades, reeking of death, of destruction, of war.

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaws as he reminded himself of his firm, unbending resolve. The invaders may have brutally ravished the peaceful land of his birth, leaving behind nothing but sorrow and ruin, but he would continue to defend it with every last fragment of strength that his body and mind could yield. He owed so much to his homeland, for raising him, feeding him, allowing him to grow into the fine young warrior that he was today. Even if it cost him his life, he would never surrender it to those Zexen fiends, who held no respect for nature and no mercy for life.

But no matter how determined he is to fight on, he was growing wearier of the war each and every day it continued on. There had been so much bloodshed, so much destruction. Four years was enough. He wanted to win the war and win it quickly. He wanted to keep his promise to Zelphis, to marry her and raise a brood with her. He just wanted peace to return to the Grasslands and for all its inhabitants to live free from the carnage and strife and foreign oppression. And for that he was fully willing to fight, but he bleakly wondered how much longer this cruel war would last.

"Master Bazba!"

The voice from a soldier snapped the young officer out of his contemplation. He turned to face the lizard warrior jogging towards him from the direction of the hills enclosing the caverns of the Great Hollow.

"The troops are getting ready to depart, Master Bazba. The Chief recommends that you head back to the base to join them now, sir."

Bazba nodded. "Thank you. Please grant me just a moment longer."

The soldier bowed and waited as Bazba took one last look across the barren snow-covered plains in the glow of the winter sunrise. Master Yelsa, he thought. This next battle shall be fought for you. Master Dupa and I shall take it upon ourselves to track down and slay that silver-haired she-devil. We shall avenge your death with honor, Master Yelsa.

Bazba respectfully lowered his head and prayed for the spirits to deliver his message to Yelsa when he is later reunited with them. Then, he turned around and said to the soldier, "I appreciate your patience. Let us now depart." Together, they silently started their way back to the Great Hollow, their footsteps crunching in the fresh, soft snow.

* * *

End Note: It's a slow chapter, I know. If you really can't see the point of this chapter, it's basically just expository material that shows you how everyone from both sides of the war is sick of fighting, and how someone (I wonder who?) needs to put an end to it soon. I'm fairly pleased w/ the tavern scene. Yeah, I made Borus look like an asshole, but come on, he's just being a typical male. It'll change eventually. I promise. Oh, and look at this! There is now officially mushy romantic crap in my story (which, as you can easily tell, I suck at writing about)! Never mind that it involves bipedal lizards. Anyway, thanks for reading and please leave a review (criticism/flames welcome). 


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